


Love Lockdown

by Kiwi25



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, F/M, Mirror Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiwi25/pseuds/Kiwi25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumbling towards love and devotion while in service to the Empire. Inspired by the mardia ficlet, Hand Fixation and originally intended for The Remix Challenge at issenterprise, well that didn't work out because this baby grew into something much bigger.</p><p>Written for the 2010 ST:Big Bang Challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**_I._ **

 

 _But our voices shook hands the other day…_

 

 

 _ISS Enterprise_

 _July 2258_

 

When Lieutenant Nyota Uhura materialized aboard the I.S.S. Enterprise she was greeted by a party of three magnificent examples of the male species, two humans, and one not quite so human. There was the Captain, James Tiberius Kirk, the shortest of the group, sandy blonde hair, a host of bruises and scars that added to the rugged beauty of his face, and ice blue eyes hardened by the lives he’d ended with a spoken command and nod of his head. He was smiling but it was not a gesture of comfort; no, it was one filled with malevolence. She knew what he was thinking – the same thoughts that plagued the minds of all men in service to the Empire; pleasure and pain. He would know neither from her body. 

 

Her eyes fell on the ship’s First Officer, who manned the controls on the transporter’s console. His genetic makeup was one part Vulcan and the other half Terran. Commander Spock’s reputation preceded him. Many revered him as a demi-god. A warrior with a heart filled with passion and the cold blood of a killer coursing through his veins. He was a patient strategist, employing his knowledge and logic during battle while he out maneuvered his opponent. He was a lover of exotic things, a collector, his harem only exceeded by the one the Captain boasted.  Despite the intensity of Nyota’s stare, the Commander’s eyes did not rise to meet her gaze. 

 

The Captain regurgitated the words of an ill- prepared speech as he stepped closer to the platform; his eyes hungrily devoured the skin left uncovered by the lieutenant’s standard Empire issued uniform. He’d introduced himself and the First Officer, filling the air with embellished tales of their misadventures, the awards bestowed upon them, and the women who had begged for one night in their beds. Her stomach flipped and she hid her disgust behind a painted on smile. He backed down the stairs and she followed his movements with her eyes. Slowly and steadily he walked to where a man dressed in medical blues stood. The Captain raised his hand and in an uncharacteristic move, he clapped it down on the shoulder of the third and final man.

 

“And this is the only person I trust with my life, Dr. Leonard McCoy.”

 

The affirmation did not go unnoticed by Nyota or the First Officer. Trust was a rarity. A subtle murmur passed from the chest of the man in question to his lips. The Doctor was different; he did not try to appear as something he was not. There were no false airs or pretenses, only slouched shoulders accentuated by a half moon smirk. His hair was long, layered, and brushing his shoulders. A thin mustache and beard adorned his face. A fresh scar sat just below his left eye. He moved forward, hand extended, as he waited for her to accept his show of kindness. An anomaly in the world they called home.

 

Nyota’s fingers slid against the smooth plane of his palm. His fingertips circled hers and he took two steps back as she eased her way off the platform. His skin was like silk. Not one callus or scar. She glanced at the milky flesh caressing hers, long elegant lines, thin, nimble fingers, and again no signs of damage. Her scrutiny amused him and she could only respond to his laugh with a misplaced snicker that she quickly muffled with her shoulder.

 

The doctor leaned in and whispered as he stroked the back of her hand, “They’re deadly weapons; protect ‘em at all costs.”

 

Her hand lingered in his longer than necessary as she searched his golden green eyes. There was no amusement present; he’d meant every word.

 

Doctor McCoy brushed Nyota’s skin a final time before he released her hand from his grip, saying, “Stop by Sickbay for your mandatory physical.” He turned and exited the transporter room and finally she realized she’d been holding her breath the entire time.

 

 **~**

 

Flanked by the Captain and First Officer, Nyota walked the ship’s corridors. She was welcomed by hateful glares from most of the female crew and lust filled sneers from the men. She listened as her escorts pointed to areas of interest on the ship, Engineering, Communications Lab, Weapons Storage, and Sickbay. The unfamiliar feeling of excitement followed by anticipation churned deeply within her belly as she stared at the entrance to the Medical wing. Later Nyota would see if it was just the newness of her station aboard the Enterprise or a genuine interest in the ship’s doctor.

 

As an Imperial officer, love was not a common term. Friendship, camaraderie, and loyalty all fell by the wayside in the practice of perseverance. Selfishness was the key to survival.  People functioned in hatred and dominance. You were predator or prey; there was no in-between. Pleasure was taken from those you desired regardless of their consent or lack thereof.

 

Nyota’s fingers traced the hilt of the knife sheathed against her inner thigh. Skill and quick thinking had been sufficient protection prior to her arrival on the Enterprise - as well as key partnerships that proved beneficial in physical and professional arenas. Now, looking from Captain to First Officer, she weighed her options. In the past she’d aligned herself with men of great importance. It would be expected for her to take the role of someone’s woman in the days following her arrival or she’d spend hours fighting off the unwelcomed advances of crew members who mistakenly believed they could overpower her.

 

Captain Kirk stopped in front of what she assumed to be her quarters. The room was positioned directly between his and the first officer’s personal digs. It seemed that a decision was being forced upon her. She noted the ease with which the Captain tapped the code into the door’s panel, how the Commander entered her assigned space and then motioned for her to cross the threshold after he was satisfied that all was clear.

 

“Just make yourselves at home,” Nyota offered as she took in her surroundings; a small dining alcove to the left, a computer and pile of PADDs on a desk to her right, a cozy sitting area, and short hall that led to the bedroom.

 

Taking her invitation literally Kirk stretched his boot covered feet out on her couch. The First Officer stood finally taking her in, recording her movements and reactions. He elevated an eyebrow slightly when he saw her hand gripping the blade held close to her body.

 

“Gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I have an appointment with the doctor.”

 

The Vulcan nodded. “Certainly, Lieutenant. We can become better acquainted at a more convenient time."

 

The Captain did not leave so quietly. He stood, pressing his body between Nyota and the small table positioned by the couch. She felt the heat and masculinity pour off him in waves. “Yes, Spock, I’m sure the lieutenant will be in need of our company, later.”

 

It was a risk filled move but one she deemed absolutely necessary. In a matter of seconds her blade was unsheathed and pressed to the delicate area between his legs. She pushed the knife against the bulge in his pants as her lips skimmed his jaw.

 

“Any more questions, Captain?” She bared her teeth and nipped at his battered skin.

 

A lecherous grin filled his face. “Several,” he groaned before grabbing her hand and saving himself from potential castration.

 

Nyota kept her grip tight on the blade until the doors were shut, the entrance codes to her quarters changed, and the rapid beating of her heart had subsided.

 

 **~**

 

Sickbay was eerily void of activity. There was only one visible patient, restrained to a biobed, a look of dejection written on his face. A nurse with a saccharine sweetened smile stepped forward and introduced herself as Christine Chapel. Immediately the lieutenant sized the nurse up. The woman stood five feet seven inches in height. She estimated her weight around one hundred and thirty-five, possibly one hundred forty pounds. Her chest was above average, hips full, and she carried herself with a quiet authority. In the minutes since her entrance into Sickbay, Nyota noticed that Chapel favored her right side, which meant she was more than likely weaker on the left. An attack from that angle would certainly prove successful.

 

Nurse Chapel directed Nyota to a free bed, pulled the curtain, and ordered her to undress, all while maintaining her full toothed grin and vise grip on the PADD clutched tightly to her chest.

 

“Are you going to watch?” Nyota rolled her eyes, refusing to hide her disgust.

 

“Honey, is that an invitation?” While the nurse’s facial expression did not waver, a flicker passed across the blonde woman’s eyes and that left the lieutenant greatly disturbed. A chill shot down Nyota’s spine and quietly she began to remove her clothes. The nurse could watch and commit any sight she liked to memory, but at the first unsolicited touch, Nyota would end the bitch’s life.

 

Nurse Chapel walked around the bed taking in Nyota at every viewpoint. Each new revelation of Nyota’s skin brought sounds of awe and wonder from the nurse’s lips. And suddenly the woman offered a warning.

 

“Don’t be fooled by the doctor’s easy demeanor. He’s ruthless. I once watched while he performed a twelve hour surgery with the point of a knife leveled at his jugular. The patient survived. The doctor killed the knife bearer in a beat and buried that same blade in the chest of the man he’d spent most of the day saving.”

 

Nyota folded the final piece of her uniform and stood waiting for the nurse’s next set of instructions.  She watched as the blonde patted the bed, saying, “Hop up.” Nyota's hand burned for the dagger, hidden under her pile of clothing. “Spread.” The nurse put down the PADD she was holding and slid her hands into a pair of gloves. “Wider – that’s it. Beautiful.”

 

Before Nyota’s fingers could connect with her favorite weapon the game quickly changed. 

 

“I got it from here, Chapel.” A strong southern voice filled the air, as the curtain shifted open, and a cool breeze rushed over Nyota’s exposed ass. “That’s an order, nurse. I suggest you follow it.”

 

The nurse gathered her things and headed from the exam area.

 

“Fresh meat does that to these inbred demons.” The doctor’s hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail; a few loose strands shielded his eyes from her view. His body was out of uniform, now covered in an old fashioned pair of blue surgical scrubs, and his pristine hands were inches from her bare skin. The doctor’s nails were perfectly shaped and free of dirt and grime. His fingers were smooth and unstained by his day to day duties in Sickbay. She wanted him to touch her again. He answered her unspoken request, placing a firm hand on her bent knee. “Sit up.”

 

Nyota shifted, stretching her legs before her and allowing them to hang from the side of the bed.  She became aware of her uneasiness as he prepared a tray of instruments to be used during the examination. His hands remained uncovered and she took in his casual grace as he moved and arranged each piece, the metal accentuating his skin and his fingers reflecting in each sterile surface.

 

Doctor McCoy washed his hands before he touched her; the fresh scent of soap filled her senses as he pressed his fingers against her cheekbones. He scanned her face for scars and traces of past injuries. He studied her eyes as if there was something he’d missed during their welcome in the transporter room. He moved from the bed and she yearned for his presence.

 

Scoffing at her weakness for a well sculpted body with years of practice, she swallowed the offer budding on her lips. It was too soon. Indulging in a fantasy, no matter how innocent she thought it may be, would lead to death on this ship. She was a stranger in a land full of her enemies.

 

The pop of latex pulled Nyota from her private thoughts. Doctor McCoy filled the gloves with his hands and returned to the bed. “Open your mouth.” Roughly he held her tongue down with a depressor. “Say aahh.” There was something familiar and innocent in his tone. They shared a brief smile as her monotone response reached his ears. And in that breath she recalled the nurse’s warning.

 

With surprising gentleness his hands traveled from her face to her neck. He felt for lumps and contusions. His breath brushed against her skin as he studied the long lines of her collar and the supporting bones. He removed his gloves and washed his hands again before returning to the bed. His fingers traced the lines of her lips and softly he requested again, “Open your mouth.”

 

Nyota did, mouth watering in anticipation, as he slid one finger past her parted lips. _Fuck._ She cursed her traitorous mouth that refused to allow her muscles to contort and form an ‘o’ around the digit entering her warmth. He paused and waited for her to widen the passage. Easily the sole finger slid down her throat and he smiled. Her body awakened, refusing to listen to her mind’s warning, and she became aware of the scent of her arousal hanging in the air. Before she could close her mouth a second finger slipped in and followed the trail previously laid by the first. Again he pushed toward the back of her throat and nodded in appreciation for her cooperation. This time she waited as a third finger joined the exercise. Nyota gagged when his digits reached their final destination.

 

“Good girl,” McCoy whispered while extricating his fingers from her mouth. 

 

The same fingers explored her breasts, kneading and working each mound, pressing and searching in vain for hidden masses. “I prefer to use old-fashioned methods for my initial examination.”

 

“Do the men receive the same treatment?” At the slip of her tongue he twisted an elongated nipple between the pads of two fingers. His eyes sparkled with the admonishment and she knew that he enjoyed her pain. Strangely her body did as well and her back arched into his touch, eliciting an involuntary groan from deep within his chest.

 

“Watch that pretty little mouth before I fill it with something thick and hard.” Damn, she hoped that was a promise.

 

When Doctor McCoy exhausted his survey of the delicate peaks of Nyota’s chest he instructed her to lie back. He fitted each foot into the attached stirrups, pulled her ass down to the edge of the exam table, and spread her legs far and wide. She had a clear view of him as he lustfully stared at the wetness before his eyes.

 

This was generally the moment when adrenaline kicked in and the desire for basic survival dictated her every move, and Nyota chose to beat the living shit out of her attacker. Instead she became compliant, obeying his unspoken commands as she shifted, opened, and accepted what he had to offer.

 

Her eyes closed when he slipped a finger past her folds. His free hand traveled down her torso to her mound and he pressed lightly. She hissed – not from pain, and the doctor understood completely. Adding another finger to his ministrations, McCoy’s movements became rougher and her hips raised a fraction of an inch off the table. Firmly he pushed her back down, shaking his head in warning.

 

In and out his fingers went, the evidence of her arousal becoming thicker and louder.

 

Slow and steady were his movements as his eyes fixed on her body in quiet concentration.

 

Soft then hard strokes he employed to test the limits of her body.

 

 _Harder._ She wanted to scream.

 

Dammit, she needed him to make her come. Tightly she shut her eyes, prolonging her inevitable fall over the cliff into hell.

 

“There is little to no evidence of internal damage. Someone preserved you well for their pleasure.” An image of her past lover played against her closed lids. “I’ll have to send my regards.”

 

She felt his strokes intensify as her pussy gushed and popped in continued preparation for more of _him._ The melody became an aphrodisiac to Nyota’s ears. He drew a line with her juice along her perineum. Her breathing became unsteady as his middle finger dipped inside her backdoor.

 

“Sick fuck,” she croaked.

 

“What did I tell you about that mouth?” She felt his thumb ghost across her clit and she shuddered. She was sick, grinding her ass on this man’s finger while willingly accepting his violation of her body. Then she heard it - breathy moans – pants - well versed curses from every dialect she could recall. Just before she peaked and spilled the essence of her body on his hand, his skilled practices ended.

 

“Sadist.” Her voice trembled with the word and she fought to steady her breathing.

 

McCoy laughed, sliding on his stool to the sink and proceeding to wash his hands for the final time. “Get dressed and come to my office.”

 

Nyota stood on shaky legs. One hand gripped the exam table and the other fumbled with her uniform. Finally she found her way to his office. The door opened to reveal the doctor without the scrub shirt he’d previously worn. She could make out another scar; this one a jagged, deep line from one pectoral, clear across his upper body, past his belly button, and stretching southward. Someone or something had tried with great vigor to end his life. They’d failed and she was sure theirs had been lost in return. He slipped the t-shirt over his head, hiding any evidence of his mortality, and motioned for her to have a seat.

 

With one command he dimmed the lights to twenty – five percent. He removed a bottle and two glasses from his desk. For the first time since their introduction in the transporter room she noticed his hands trembled.

 

“Pike sends his best.”

 

He regained his composure once she’d spoken those words.

 

McCoy raised his glass in the air and Nyota followed suit. They drank in silence. Two more rounds followed before either dared to speak.

 

“Are you ready for this, lieutenant?”

 

Nyota expected his question and she offered the reply he sought. “Yes. I’m ready for James T. Kirk to fucking die.”

 

The two finished the bottle and she stood to leave.

 

McCoy froze when Nyota moved to place a kiss on the flushed skin of his cheek. They weren’t strangers. The line blurred somewhere between enemies – friends – lovers – soul mates. Years had passed since their first meeting. There were remnants of the old Nyota Uhura just below the hardened shell she’d manufactured. He had told her more than once to guard her heart and mind.

 

“Damned bleeding heart is going to get you killed.” He brushed the messy strands of her hair behind her ear and his hand lingered on the lobe. “You need the hate to survive.” Nyota’s eyes slid shut and she enjoyed the feel of his touch.

 

“We weren’t always these people.” The words were spoken as a reminder. It had always been her way of bringing him back to their reality. Now it was his turn to do the same.

 

Her hands caressed the scar on his chest through the flimsy material of his t-shirt. She rubbed slow circles across the expanse of covered skin, before she turned and left his office. No, they had not always been the people they were now. Life had been different for them both. Full of opportunity and promise – at one time McCoy and Nyota had a future. Now they traveled the twisted road of fate and fortune.

 

As the lights of the office dimmed, Nyota knew McCoy’s mood would follow suit and sink deeper into despair, memory after memory fleeing their hiding places and forcing him to relive his past heartbreak.


	2. Chapter 2

**_II._ **

 

 _I wanna live, breathe_

 _I wanna be part of the human race…_

 

 

 _Savannah_ _, GA_

 _July 2253_

 

Leonard McCoy’s decision was made the first time he laid eyes on Jocelyn Daniels at their neighborhood playground. With jet black hair and pale blue eyes, she reminded him of the dolls his mother kept tucked away in her cedar trunk. His heart caught up with his determined mind in the third grade, and from then on McCoy was dedicated to Jocelyn’s happiness. He listened to the relentless teasing of their friends, boys who coaxed him with the promise of new pussy, unaware that he had vowed to wait until his wedding night to indulge in that pleasure with his wife. McCoy fought off feelings of indifference as girls whispered in Jocelyn’s ear that she could do better than the son of the local town drunk.

 

Jocelyn didn’t listen and for that McCoy was thankful. They planned their lives without apprehension. He would go to medical school. She’d go to college, study Interspecies Education with a minor in linguistics. They would move off planet. He’d treat strangers in a strange land, while she taught their children that all humans weren’t self-centered or single-minded. They threw two kids and a few exotic pets into the mix. It was their recipe for happiness.

 

There were a few substitutions to the method; Jocelyn and McCoy remained in Georgia. Baby girl Joanna McCoy came weeks after their first wedding anniversary and his medical school graduation. She was her mother and father’s pride and joy with glossy hazel eyes and a mop of dark curls. Quickly the baby became their reason for living. She forced them to grow up and think before acting. 

 

Deep thought was needed when the Empire left their calling card in the days that followed Joanna’s birth.

 

McCoy had heard his father talk about how power had corrupted the Empire’s founding fathers. He blamed the old man’s rants on poorly synthesized corn liquor. Papa McCoy became animated and rambled on concerning men and women who originally sought change and how they became twisted individuals who thirsted for blood and pain. Son pitied father and the younger McCoy hoped that he’d never know the disappointments that forced his father to this state in life.

 

And when a curly haired stranger with clear blues eyes approached him in the middle of a crowded street wearing the civilian garb of an Imperial delegate, Papa McCoy’s tales roared to life. Leonard wondered if they held any truth as this unfamiliar man spoke in a soft whisper, his voice weighed down with a heavy Russian lilt. He called McCoy a soldier and referred to him as a loyal brother. The doctor knew shit when he smelled it and this man-boy reeked of it. The kid’s eyes were vibrant as he spoke of the Empire and their mission, and despite the outsider’s pleasant demeanor, chills ran up and down McCoy’s spine.

 

The doctor’s fingers traced the embossed globe and sword on the eggshell colored card that was shoved in his hands. His oath had been to preserve life and the term soldier implied that he would be called upon to actively take lives.  He met the representative’s gaze and declined the Empire’s offer with a smile.

 

The stranger disappeared into the crowd.

 

Two years later the visitor returned. The day was bright and sunny. It was the middle of summer and Georgia’s humidity was at a historical high. When the young one approached Doctor McCoy, the sky filled with clouds, and a storm began to brew on the horizon. The proposition was sweeter but the kid’s eyes were darker, his words emphatic as he pleaded with the doctor. When McCoy smiled and offered his hand as he said, “No thanks,” the boy did not budge an inch. This time it was McCoy who backed away into the crowd.

 

Not enough time had passed when the doctor saw those eyes again. Blue eyes stood in his office waiting room. An indescribable fear filled McCoy. It traveled over his body in waves. He ran to his office and shut the door. There was no need to have the discussion; his answer had not changed. It would never change. He cancelled the remainder of his appointments and sought the comfort of home.

 

That night he cooked for his family, fighting back the image of the man who didn’t smile or speak. He relished in the feel of his wife’s arms wrapped around his waist as his flour covered hands kneaded the dough for his famous homemade pizza. Joanna babbled on the comm. to her grandparents. Slowly things were returning to normal. Anticipation seeped into his pores when his wife shifted and he felt a kick from their unborn child at play in her belly. This was his life.

 

Later when Joanna was fast asleep husband confided in wife.

 

“I saw _him_ again today.” McCoy felt Jocelyn stiffen in response to his words. He continued to rub her belly with both hands in an attempt to remove the tension he’d created. “We didn’t speak.” His final statement was muffled by the kiss he placed on her protruding navel.

 

He moved to straddle his wife, carefully avoiding her expanding belly. That’s when he noticed the tears. “Darlin’…don’t…”

 

Her fingers met his lips, silencing his words. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

 

“Don’t worry; a no is just that, no. My answer is never gon’ change.” McCoy searched her eyes; if Jocelyn believed his declaration, then so would he.

 

“It’s not you I’m worried about.” There was finality in her tone. He knew not to press.

 

McCoy buried his nose in Jocelyn’s dark strands and inhaled. “I could eat you.” The sound of her laughter warmed him from the inside out. Her neck was the target of his playful attack as he nipped and kissed the creamy skin that held hints of lavender and vanilla. He ignored the increased noise drifting up the stairs towards their bedroom.

 

“Go.” Jocelyn whispered, pushing him off her body.

 

“I’ve got business here, woman,” he said, moving from her neck to the valley between her breasts. “I love you.” She turned to jelly under his well placed affection.

 

McCoy didn’t need to hear her vocalize a response; Jocelyn’s answer could be felt in the tips of her fingers as they brushed his lips just before her mouth met his.

 

That was the last intimate exchange between husband and wife - their final goodbye.

 

The sporadic sounds turned into determined footsteps.  A brutal force wrenched McCoy from the arms of his wife. He screamed in shock and rage as he was thrown against the wall. His head connected with the wall causing a brief loss of consciousness. When his eyes fluttered open he saw the tear–stained face of his wife as she held the lifeless body of their oldest child in her arms. There was blood, more blood than he believed could ever come from Joanna’s tiny frame.

 

McCoy yelped in pain as a pair of hands gripped the back of his neck and forced him to look where his wife sat in the middle of the bed. She continued to cry and rock, begging for their daughter to wake up and be okay. Tears burned his eyes and he realized this was the end. Faceless villains forced McCoy to watch as they ended the life of his wife. It was a brutal and barbaric attack. No phasers or sonic weapons were used, just thick blades with long handles that could be heard destroying her delicate flesh. They kept his head fixed on the scene as they celebrated the intake of her last breath.

 

He pulled.

 

He tugged.

 

He yelled vicious curses and promised countless hours of pain in retribution for their heartless acts.

 

“Too late now – you should have taken the very first offer.”

 

The burdened tone and the foul breath that reeked of stale vodka, spilled from his captor’s lips, were familiar. He didn’t have to turn to know that his three time visitor was the one keeping him restrained. His father had been right. The warning chills and impenetrable fear were evidence of the representative’s malicious intent. Walking away from the offer had only been one piece of the puzzle. Now he was aware that he should have done more than decline. He should have ended it. Struck a blow before the precious lives of his wife, daughter, and unborn son were ended without qualm.

 

Finally it was McCoy’s turn, positioned on both knees, chin raised to give better access to his neck; he welcomed death with an empty smile as they spit in his face.  Fists punched him until his nose hung and bled. He waited. He prayed for his last breath. He wanted reconciliation with the family he loved. There was no life without them. He laughed as the jagged blade of a knife mutilated his chest. He heard his flesh rip – felt the burn as the tip tore muscle and met bone.

 

“Finish it.” He growled through clenched teeth as he pushed through the intensity of his body’s pain.

 

The blade fell to the ground.

 

“Dammit, I said fucking finish it.” He screamed.

 

A boot met his jaw and darkness overtook McCoy.

 

 **~**

 

 

 _ISS Avenger_

 _August 2253_

 

  

Voices could be heard in the distance. The quiet lull of the shuttle kept McCoy in a trance-like state although the sedatives were wearing off. He tried to move and raw pain flooded his body, igniting every nerve from head to toe. He opened his mouth to cry out in agony and found he had no voice. A hand brushed the sweat soaked hair from his forehead and a female voice urged him, “Rest.”

 

He did as he was told, slipping into an uneasy slumber.

 

Wheels - all he heard were wheels; the movement of the bed where he slept, the squeak of the table that contained hypos and regenerators that continuously violated his damaged form, and the distinct sound of a wheelchair that came and went all hours of the day and night. Tired of hiding from the world, he opened his eyes on the third night the impaired visitor entered his room.

 

“I see our esteemed guest is awake.” There was an inappropriate friendliness in the man’s tone. McCoy struggled to maintain his alertness as he took in his visitor’s face; playful eyes, sandy hair graying at the temples, and the weathered lines of wisdom framing the man’s eyes. He was familiar – McCoy had seen his face before. In between the spasms of pain and the nausea rising to the surface he couldn’t place him. What he did recognize was the insignia of the Empire adorning the jacket the man was wearing.

 

McCoy balled his fists and for the first time realized he was restrained to the bed.

 

“You didn’t think I’d let you come and go as you please?” His smile was warm and menacing in the same breadth. “Welcome to your new home, my ship – the _Avenger_.”

 

Again McCoy’s voice failed him but he managed a few words. “Kill me. Just let me die.”

 

“Sorry, Leonard Horatio McCoy, you’re far too valuable for that. Your hands alone are worth more than over half of my force. I can’t let you quit breathing – _yet_.”

 

The man left without further explanation. McCoy waited for his return. Days passed and the restraints were removed. He studied the abrasions that had formed on his wrist from where the leather was bound too tightly. His fingers had swelled and they barely bent when he attempted to form a fist. He touched the tip of the scar on his torso and winced in response. The skin was healing but it was extremely sensitive. His hands moved to the matted beard on his face. He smelled horrible.

 

The door opened and his eyes met the hypnotic gaze of a young woman. She seemed out of place, far too beautiful to be associated with the man who had been here before. Long silky black strands, expressive brown eyes, and a mouth that would form a smile that promised to overtake her entire face. He couldn’t help but think she was too thin as her lanky limbs shifted restlessly by his door. She was small enough that he could overcome her and escape; silently he watched as his mind began to form a plan. Her body was covered in a long gauzy white shift and she wore nothing under it. Obviously this young one was someone’s pet. She nodded in greeting before moving from the door to the side of his bed.

 

Calmly she began to relay her orders.

 

“Sit up.”

 

His first inclination was to resist, fight, take a life for the ones that had been stolen from him, but there was something in her tone. It was the voice that had urged him to rest on the shuttle.  He granted a momentary reprieve to the young woman. He watched as she pulled his legs around to the side of the bed and frowned at his current state.

 

“You’re fucking filthy.”

 

McCoy didn’t know why, but the forcefulness in her statement and the added use of one of his favorite expletives made him like her more, and he couldn’t disagree with her assessment.

 

Helping him stand, she wrapped an arm around his waist. “Lean on me,” she whispered. There were no sounds of stress or strain in the cadence of her speech. Still he held back, afraid to trust a stranger.

 

His knees threatened to buckle and he was thankful that she was a lot stronger than she appeared. She allowed him to set the pace while directing their interlocked limbs to an adjacent room. She continued to make snide comments about his offensive odor. He was grateful to be up and moving; however, her sass was quickly wearing thin. 

 

They entered the room. It was plain and sterile, walls made of metal, the sleek design of steel covering every inch. He saw the mirror and sink; finally his scent wafted to his nose. He smelled like shit. Her smart ass wise cracks had been warranted.

 

A large pool of steaming water in the middle of the floor caught his eye.  She helped him undress, removing the pants and the loose shirt. She tossed the clothes in the trash receptacle. Briefly she studied him, a foreign emotion filling her eyes when she saw the beginnings of scarring on the ugly chest wound. He felt vulnerable as he stood naked before her. She pulled the shift over her head, but his eyes did not steal a glance of her bare flesh as she took his hand and led him to the pool. She dipped her head under the water and her hair fanned out like oil against the blue waves. Again he couldn’t help but wonder why she was here. She put distance between their nudity and turned her back to him, providing privacy while he bathed.

 

Finally relaxed in the whirling warmth of the water, McCoy buried his head below the surface. He closed his eyes and held his breath as he shifted lower in the pool. Behind closed lids he saw the scene in his bedroom. He recalled the blood and the foul odor of death in the air. He resurfaced with a shout. Alarmed, his aide turned and swam to him. He extended his hands towards the woman squeezing her neck with brutal force. He gritted his teeth. He shed the tears that had sat patiently in reserve since the night of his family’s murder. He unleashed a muffled scream from tightly pressed lips, increasing his deathly hold on the woman. The bones shifted and rolled under his fingers.  Her body went slack in the water, brown eyes trained on him. Without words to guide him, McCoy recognized her secret battle as his battle; the war of indecision and the choice between life and death.

 

 _Please end this._

 

It was as if he were looking in a mirror.

 

McCoy became conscious of his pale hands against her tender flesh. Life seeped from her body, but he was not ready to accept his role as killer today.  He released the woman from his grip and floated away from her. He listened as she panted and breathed heavily, gasped for air. He heard the foreign rants and familiar off world curses she shot in his direction. Hating already what recent events had forced him to, he shifted in the water, intent on conveying an apology until he met the flattened palm of her right hand. He felt his jaw when it dislocated. Yes, she was definitely much stronger than he had given her credit for.

 

She was on him in seconds, nails tearing into the newly grown flesh protecting the damage on his chest. Fresh pain ripped through his upper body and he struggled to grab hold of her. She was quick, moving seconds before he made contact with her body. She moved like the wind. He was dizzy and frustrated.  He groaned in complaint and she seized the opportunity for another attack, this one in the form of a knee to his groin.

 

The jarring laugh of the wheelchair bound man pulled them from the one–sided struggle.

 

“My precious star Nyota, be a sweet girl. You’re supposed to kiss his wounds and make them better, not inflict more damage upon our honored guest.”

 

“Yes, Captain Pike.”

 

McCoy noticed her downturned head and hooded eyes in response to the rebuke. It disturbed him. The fighter in her died with one command. However, he now knew their names, Nyota and Pike, he was sure the woman could kill him if called upon, and it made him sick that the twisted bastard with mangled limbs held an unfathomable hold over her.

 

Nyota obeyed as Pike held up a towel and beckoned for her to leave the water.

 

“Such a well-trained beauty, isn’t she, doctor?”

 

He didn’t answer the question posed – it wasn’t necessary.

 

Nyota mumbled a request for forgiveness in McCoy’s direction, as she wrapped her body in the oversized towel and fled the room.

 

McCoy’s eyes remained on his benefactor as the captain’s gaze followed the girl out of the door.

 

“Finish bathing, doctor, you smell like a wet dog. Get dressed for dinner. We have much to discuss.”

 

Pike wheeled himself from the room and the doctor indulged in what was offered.

 

An hour later he emerged from the bath, clean shaven, smudge free skin, and smelling of alien bath salts. McCoy also possessed an increased desire to know more about the spider’s web that had him trapped.


	3. Chapter 3

**_III._ **

 

 _While we’re in love we’ll drag ourselves around_

 _We’ll hold each other up_

 _We’ll tear each other down…_

 

 

 

 _ISS Avenger_

 _August 2253_

 

The whine of the motorized chair across the marble floor signaled Pike’s return to the quarters he shared with Nyota. Swiftly she moved from their bedroom to his office to greet him. His eyes twinkled at her appearance. He sat just beyond the door, chin resting in the palm of his hand, watching every graceful move of her body as she came closer. Once she was within arm’s reach, his hand brushed across her exposed midriff and she knew he was no longer angry at her violent showing of emotion in the bathing pool with Doctor McCoy.

 

“You did well, today.” His hand splayed across her flat belly as he continued to stroke her skin, trailing a stubby, thick finger down the front of her uniform to the lean muscle of her thighs as he brought his chair to a pause in front of her. “I am very pleased.”

 

She could hear the need in his voice and the desire that stirred just below the surface. Physical impairment had done little to curb his appetite; in fact his hunger for carnal delights had increased. He was forced to take creative measures to meet his needs. His finger lifted the front of her uniform bottom and he frowned when he found her to be covered beneath her skirt. “This,” he swatted the pulsing space where her thighs met, “however, does not please me.”

 

Nyota shifted uncomfortably as Pike moved behind her, saying, “Remove them now.” Following the order given, she slipped the panties from her posterior, down her legs, and over her boots. She bent at the waist to expose her stripped derriere and heard the slight gasp that escaped his lips. Electricity danced along her skin and anticipation of what was to come increased tenfold. She knew that in this rare moment she would receive an infinitesimal amount of pleasure, and she planned on capitalizing on every crumb he threw her way. She bit down on her bottom lip, silencing a premature moan as one of his free hands caressed a naked cheek; his other reached between her legs and urged them further apart.

 

The heat of his breath ghosted across the space that longed for his attention. She felt her arousal heighten as a bead of her nectar rolled down her inner thigh. His tongue caught it and she writhed and whimpered due to the force of his talented organ. Pike’s finger penetrated her folds and she bent over further, tightly gripping the edge of the desk. He was speaking to her between relentless strokes of his fingers. Occasionally his tongue would join the attack, and it took all of her will not to scream.

 

Pike relayed the plans he had in store for Doctor McCoy and Nyota. They involved deceit and destruction. Somehow she knew he was leaving out an important piece of his strategy. He leveled another deadly lick to her pussy, covering and spreading her at once. She reached for his head, forgetting about the awkward angle and the burning sensation in her shoulder as she pushed his face deeper.  In spite of the pleasure filled waves rolling over her body, Nyota longed for Pike to have his vengeance; the sooner the day came that he destroyed his enemies, the sooner she could regain her freedom.

 

He buried his nose, lips, and tongue between her delectable walls and she cried out in inconceivable ecstasy. Now she was grinding against his face in an attempt for more friction – deeper penetration- and the constant flicker of his tongue against the swollen nub of bundled nerves.

 

A strangled _shit_ left her lips and her finger found her clit in search of completion. He didn’t stop her; instead he twined his own fingers with hers and fucked her roughly with tongue and hand.

 

“Let me taste you,” he pleaded as he laved and licked at her salt slicked flesh.

 

Nyota willingly answered his request, giving in to the explosive power of her climax. For thirty seconds it didn’t matter that she’d sold her soul to the devil. Her body needed everything he’d just provided. She was still panting and trying to regain her strength when she heard torturous promise in his words.

 

“You will always belong to me.” He tapped the reddened flesh, filling it once more with his fingers, before sending her away. “Go get ready, our guest will arrive shortly.”

 

~

 

Scalding water rained down on Nyota’s tension ridden shoulders as she showered in preparation for her evening as hostess. She needed the repetitive abuse that came at the hands of the shower head to know that she was alive. Pike treated her like she was made of glass. He became angry if his oral play left her marked or bruised in any fashion.

 

Her fingers found the tender spots on her neck and delighted in the persistent throbbing. Pain was good. It made it clear that she was not so deeply immersed in the Empire’s world, that hurt and discomfort _did_ rub her soul raw. She needed to know that she was still worthy of love and precious moments of relief. Fresh tears poured from her eyes in light of the day’s discovery - that she wanted to live. When Leonard McCoy’s hands wrapped tightly around her neck, stealing the breath from her body, she had reconciled fact with fiction. Yes, she wanted retribution for the death of the mother she’d loved and lost. What was more important was her desire for a future, one that did not involve opening her heart, body, and soul to a man who could never appreciate it.

 

A year had passed.

 

Twelve months filled with Pike’s devious smiles and whispered lies. Fifty-two weeks spent as his consort, learning his proclivities, catering to his whims, and obeying the gentle orders from his chapped lips. The mandatory submissiveness of Nyota’s position sickened her. Yet, she was still breathing, and he was the only person she had to thank for that minor miracle.

 

Much like the doctor, her life had been peaceful – normal in terms of a woman in service to the Empire.

 

Nyota’s parents had separated before she was old enough to remember what it was like to have both a mother and a father. The two decided their love was not strong enough to endure the perils of life. For years, Nyota never knew what became of her father. He was referenced by first name only in conversation: Malachi - the enigma. In her mind she made up fantasy filled stories. He was a rebellion leader, who left his wife and daughter, out of fear, terrified that retribution would come in the form of their deaths. The thought comforted her on the nights she longed for her father’s arms, because her mother’s tears, surrendered to the darkness, had become more than she could stand to bear.

 

Mother and daughter traveled beyond Terra’s stratosphere, learning the languages of the stars. An affinity grew within Nyota, for the cultures of the broad range of species contained in the quadrants they frequented.  Constantly they moved, before she had time to form bona fide friendships or steal kisses from boys with skin colored by the rainbow.  Amina never offered an explanation. Nyota filled her role as respectful daughter, packed her duffel, said goodbye, and moved to the next civilian base with her mother.

 

Then the war between the Rebellion and the Empire escalated and everything changed. Battle lines were drawn, making it necessary to choose a side and declare one's loyalty. Few places remained immune. There were states in the Terran Northern Hemisphere that functioned as they had centuries before,  countries in continents across the globe that retained their solidarity, and others obliterated simply for trying to take a united stand against oppression.

 

Nyota and Amina found themselves trapped on Thalos VI when a new surge in violence began to brim. She watched from her hiding place in the Communications station, as swords removed the heads of men, women, and children - an incentive for their loved ones to yield to the Empire’s will. The crash against the door of the building and its subsequent destruction set Nyota’s nerves on edge. Nyota cried as her mother pushed her to a place of safety just below the boards of the floor. She urged her mother to join her in unseen protection; instead the woman chose the equipment closet as her safe haven.

 

Nyota pressed her hands tightly against her mouth when a soldier discovered her mother and pulled her from the closet. She watched, helpless, as the men defiled her mother’s body before stilling her beating heart. The empty shell of Amina Uhura tumbled to the floor and Nyota’s eyes fell on the name etched into the woman’s skin just above the space the dagger penetrated. She’d never seen the tattoo before. Her mother remained covered in all climates, even those deemed too humid for excessive clothing. There, just above the woman’s heart, was written _Malachi_.

 

It was delayed gratification to know her childhood fantasy had originated in truth. She heard the soldiers grumble about Malachi and his whore. They questioned the whereabouts of their bastard child. Nyota’s ears began to burn. Her heart pounded with fresh adrenaline. New anger spurred her to action. She flew from the floorboards, a banshee’s scream tearing from her lips. With the advantage of the element of surprise, and in a blinding fury, she annihilated the three men with her tiny hands and their stained weapons. Covered in sweat and the blood of her victims, Nyota waited for the men’s reinforcements to find her.

 

They never came.

 

She ambled from the building into the blinding sun. Mangled bodies and disjointed limbs lay in her wake. Then her eyes fell on the horizon. A figure moved in the distance like a ghost, rising above the death below him to reach the space where she stood. Nyota studied the man and his features. He had tall, long limbs that mirrored hers, face scarred by battle wounds, his eyes, crescent shaped moons deep and brown in color.

 

“Malachi.” She whispered the name before falling to her knees on the burning sand.

 

From sand to building, everything had been a blur. Nyota found she was tied to a chair, the rope so tight that she was unable to twist the limbs strapped to the chair. The dull ache of poor circulation filled her arms and legs. Then there was her father, circling her like a predator crowding his prey. There was sadness in his eyes, even as a proud smile spread across his face. She was daddy’s perfect little girl, a natural born killer. 

 

“A _friend_ will claim you shortly.” He knelt before her, debating to touch or not to touch. “I never wanted this life for you,” he whispered while wiping the lone tear from her face. “Be strong – withstand this test.”

 

Nyota sat numb as her father turned and exited the door and her life.

 

Days later, as Nyota sat stewing in her own filth, the sound of a docking ship registered with her ears. It was hard to make out the figures around her. Over the time she spent bound she’d heard voices, imagined faces before hers. Until the man with the bright eyes gripped her chin roughly in his hand, she thought it another mirage. Exhausted and dehydrated, she put up little resistance as he tilted her head from side to side while he stroked the tangled strands of her hair. “This is the one. Take her to the ship.”

 

 **~**

 

The gentle rap on the lav door pulled Nyota from her bitter memories.

 

“Your dress is on the bed, Ms. Uhura.” She could hear the fear in the young woman’s voice. Pike was a ruthless disciplinarian to those who served him, excluding Nyota. His adoration was punishment enough. “The Captain says that it is imperative that you are dressed and ready to receive his guest, promptly at 2000 hours.”

 

Nyota stepped from the shower, shooing the girl away, as she padded across the floor from the bathroom to the bed.

 

There, strewn across the bed, was yet another beautifully simplistic piece of fabric: a silken kimono-style dress that was no longer than her standard issued uniform. Pike loved her in black and it was quickly becoming her least favorite color. Tossing the dark clothing from her sight, she collapsed on the bed. Her mind wandered to the captain’s words as he'd tasted and teased her body. He had a mission for the doctor and, eventually, for her.

 

Would she finally have the opportunity to get away?

 

Standing in front of the mirror, Nyota toweled off before rubbing her body down with scented oil. She dried her hair and pulled it into a high ponytai slipped into the dress, finishing the look with large gold hoops that hung from her ears and matching bangles that, adorned her wrists.

 

Remembering Pike’s earlier reprimand, she shimmied out of the lace covering her bottom, deciding that going bare was worth the feeling of degradation that settled in the center of her chest, should the captain choose to enjoy her nakedness with his eyes and not his hands.

 

Nyota was no whore, and Pike’s continued need to parade her around in front of his guests like a rare delicacy was quickly wearing thin on her patience. Despite the occasional enjoyment she derived from his offerings, she was not a piece of property. She was a soldier. He had spoken the words from his very lips. She was highly skilled, possessing the ability to outthink, outmaneuver, and outstrategize any man on the ship, Pike included. She’d risen from token to cherished confidant. Nightly she slept next to an unarmed man incapable of defending himself, and his trust in her grew a little more with every morning his eyes opened without incident.

 

The time for action was drawing near.

 

As Nyota walked to the door to greet the man she hoped would become her ally, she finalized the details of her plan. Maybe not that night, the next day, or within the year, but soon – Nyota would know freedom. She would find her peace. 

 

~

 

The first thing Nyota noticed about the doctor was his undeniable sex appeal. His mouth displayed a smirk at all times. The tone of his voice was automatically set to condescending. He was one part southern gentleman, and she figured the rest was an evil son of a bitch who could probably make her scream his name while arching her back to get her fill of him. She shook the forbidden thought from her mind.

 

This was business _only_.

 

“Good evening, Doctor McCoy.” She took a step back, allowing him entry into Pike’s quarters, stealing a quick glance at the firm backside filling out a simple pair of black pants, paired with a button down white shirt he’d refused to tuck in. His short hair was a mess of wire straight places and smoothed down patches. She couldn’t help but think a longer style would suit his face better. She’d talk him into a buzz cut and growing out the strands later. For now she had to focus less on his outward appearance and more on what had driven him to survive the attack on his life. “What are you drinking?”

 

Nyota smiled slightly as McCoy shifted his weight from right to left, then said, “Bourbon – neat.”

 

He was nervous and she decided to play with his uneasiness. Swaying as she walked to the bar, taking high steps, and raising her behind just a smidge in the air, it was virtually impossible not to feel his heated gaze on the momentary glimpses of skin.

 

“Guard your eyes, doctor.” Nyota threw the words over her shoulder as she poured the amber liquid into a glass.

 

His frustration could be heard in the deep breaths he took to calm his already fraying nerves.

 

“I watched my family die less than a week ago. The last thing I’m thinking about is fucking a new piece of snatch.”

 

Nyota bit the inside of her cheek as she held the glass just beyond his reach. “Good," she told him. "That means you’re stronger and smarter than eighty – five percent of the men on this ship who allow their next taste of pussy to dictate each and every one of their pathetic moves.”

 

McCoy took the glass from her hand, slammed the drink back in one gulp. Still testing her new colleague, Nyota slid in one last insult. “Unless dick is your thing - then it doesn’t matter, because getting fucked in the ass would be like Christmas morning for you.”

 

Finally she saw what she needed from this man: fury. He gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw as he spoke. “Listen, lady, I don’t know your game, but save it for the crip who, for reasons I can’t seem to understand, adores that fine ass.”

 

It was Nyota’s turn to smirk; she had him. “I’ve never been a lady, and thanks for the compliment. I kind of like your ass too.”

 

She took the empty tumbler from his hand, brushing his palm with the tips of her fingers, and refilled his glass. This time he sipped, slowly, studying her, and waiting for a chance to ask the questions that needed to be answered.

 

Nyota beat him to the punch. “First rule – trust no one – not even yourself.” She turned her back on him, breaking the seal on a bottle of water and pouring the liquid over the ice in her glass.

 

“So I shouldn’t believe a word coming out of your mouth?”

 

Two moves and she was in front of him, arm draped lazily over his shoulder, the other snaked around his waist, and her lips barely touching his ear as she whispered, “I’m the last person you should trust, but listening to me just might save your life.”

 

The faint squeal of Pike’s chair grew louder. Nyota topped off the doctor’s drink and disappeared down the hall.


	4. Chapter 4

**_IV._ **

 

 _Thought I knew what love was for_

 _I look around these days and I’m not so sure…_

 

 

 _ISS Avenger_

 _November 2253_

 

McCoy’s days aboard the ship he now called home changed after his first visit to Pike’s quarters. He went from prisoner to personal physician for the man who had stepped in to save his life. Captain became teacher - Nyota was his assistant - the doctor their star pupil. They schooled him on what to say and do, gave him vital instructions aimed at extending his life aboard and beyond. McCoy couldn’t help but think there was more to words drilled over and over in his head as well as the countless hours he spent in the gym, pushing his body beyond limits he’d never known existed. He was stronger now; his body had been altered by the weights he’d lifted and the grueling repetitions on machines designed to optimize his health but which could very well be used as torture devices.

 

“I know you don’t understand my interest in you. Soon, it will all make sense.” Pike held the doctor’s gaze as he sipped wine from his glass.

 

“Or you can tell me _now_.” McCoy tired of playing nice and going along with the web the captain continued to weave.

 

Pike laughed, reclining in his chair. “Okay.”

 

Over dinner that evening, Pike shared secret information with the doctor. McCoy now knew who was responsible for the order to execute him and his family. James Tiberius Kirk.

 

“No one denies the Empire, Leonard McCoy, and expects their life to remain intact.”

 

McCoy bit his tongue, preventing his response to Pike’s observation from rising to his lips; the doctor thought that as a good man, he was an exception to the rule. Pike continued his tale about Kirk, a former grunt in the Empire who moved from death dealer to celebrated murderer. The man’s life had been spared more than once simply because he was the son of George Kirk – a ruthless and treacherous leader who raped, maimed, and murdered, all for the love of the glorious Empire. Kirk waged a campaign of entitlement on his father’s story. The kid had delivered on every promise made, including recruiting a top member from a ruling Vulcan family. The best, brightest, and most talented were the ones he sought, and when they declined the generous offers he extended on the Empire’s behalf, their lives met an untimely end.

 

“You were on their radar long before you finished medical school.” Pike moved from the table, retrieving a box of cigars. Offering one to the doctor, he forged on with his story, “The Empire wanted your father once; many think that’s the reason he developed dangerous habits. You love liquor; your father worships it because it keeps the demons away.”

 

McCoy bristled under Pike’s words. He was more than aware of his father’s issues and the demons that chased the older man. At the same time he knew that all those drunken stories, told with a slurred tongue, had been true. His father’s vice had been his saving grace, and now the toll had been passed to his son. James Kirk had sent the men to McCoy’s home.  The doctor balled his hand into a fist and pounded the table. Glasses and dishes shifted and McCoy recoiled from the show of his anger.

 

“Shit, being mad is a good thing – channel it – use it to your advantage. You’ve seen Nyota in action. Rage is just another weapon in her arsenal.”

 

Nyota – McCoy’s ears perked up with the mention of the woman’s name. The jury was still out as to whether she was a friend or foe. A piece of his heart broke listening to the retelling of her past. Fact mixed with fiction. It had only been a year since she’d joined Pike. It was the only option she had after Kirk’s orchestration of the attack on Thalos VI that resulted in the death of Nyota’s mother and the shaky alliance she’d formed with the wheelchair bound escapee from the insane asylum.

 

“Revenge is the thread that binds us, doctor.” Pike was pouring another drink and pushing the nearly empty bottle across the table to McCoy. The conversation quickly turned into the bitter ramblings of a disappointed old man. Two years had passed since James T. Kirk stormed the bridge of the _Enterprise_ with a band of rogue Romulans, snatching command from Pike’s hand and dooming the former hero of the Empire to the fate of useless limbs.

 

Yes – Pike, McCoy, and Nyota all had something in common: shared pain and a deep unrelenting desire for vengeance.

 

The day after his evening with Pike, McCoy moved into the spare bedroom directly across the hall from where Pike and Nyota slept. There were nights the walls were too thin. He was treated to sounds his ears were not prepared to hear. The way Pike talked to Nyota, demeaned her during acts of so–called intimacy, McCoy simply could not comprehend. The pleasure he stole from her body, and how at the end she begged for it, pleaded for his abuse as a sign of his undying affection. She was strong, intelligent, and vicious -- yet that crippled bastard woke every morning with another chance to destroy her spirit. McCoy could see it in her eyes – the sadness and emptiness. Her longing for something other than the life she had.

 

“Don’t pity me!” She spat the words from her mouth one morning over breakfast. “I’m not some sad, deranged little girl with daddy issues.”

 

“I never said you were.” McCoy leaned across the table. “I just want to know why.”

 

“It’s all about the end game.” Her eyes were black and cold as they bored holes into him. Nyota left the table, food untouched. She had a way of disappearing before he could counter her poorly formed arguments.

 

 **~**

 

Nyota Uhura was at her best when on the offensive, attacking before an opponent had a chance to break down her barriers. This was evident in the gym as she sparred with McCoy, a dagger in each of her hands, high leg kicks delivered to his upper body with the force of ten thousand men, and that thirst for life that hung on every grunt that echoed off the padded walls.

 

McCoy was scared shitless when she drifted to that zone of heartless mercenary. Her eyes glazed over with something that he couldn’t define, but a similar emotion was buried deep within his heart. He felt it when he thought about the curly haired stranger that forced him to watch as he orchestrated the murder of the doctor’s family. He wondered if he’d ever be able to blindly attack with such passionate rage.

 

It was almost a thing of beauty until she came at him again, a whirl of black and red, her hair fanned out around her face as she twirled, turned, flipped, and kicked. He blocked her attack with his arms and hands. Her blade nearly sliced into the muscle of his forearm, prompting her to pause their practice exercise.

 

“Computer… freeze… program.” Nyota panted, hands on hips, weapons still curled tightly against her palm, taking deep breaths to regulate her heart’s rhythm and fill her lungs with air. “Lesson number two, McCoy – your hands are your salvation.”

 

McCoy relaxed from his defensive stance. “What are you jabbering on about?”

 

“Your reputation precedes you, doctor. Pike studied your research, articles, and even your resistance to the Empire. You’re talented, blessed with a genius medical mind and insights that no doctor before you has ever possessed. Why do you think he quickly tossed M’Benga as his physician? Pike believes you can make him walk again, but first he’s about his revenge.” She threw a bottle of water in McCoy’s direction before falling to the mat and stretching her body to relieve the tension mounting in her burning muscles.

 

He tossed the bottle to the side and moved closer to her contorted form on the floor. He held both hands out and gruffly asked, “May I?” He took one boot covered foot in his hands, pointing her toe to the ceiling, kneading her leg from calf to thigh, stopping just before any further touching would be deemed inappropriate. The second leg shot up seeking the same treatment and he delivered. Her body relaxed under his ministrations and his guard slipped, only to find his neck wrapped between both her calves as he fought and clawed to break free.

 

“Fight without your hands, McCoy.” Nyota spoke between clenched teeth.

 

How in the hell was he supposed to fight without his hands when he couldn’t even manage to breathe?

 

His legs were free; quickly he nudged a leg between their bodies, wrapping one leg around the knee of her left. He heard her wince when the burning and stinging began in her thigh, and she released her hold on him. She fell face down into the mat, seeking a moment to recover. He straddled her from behind, only to be met by a blow from the back of her head into his forehead.

 

“Dammit, woman!” he cried before plummeting to the floor. Nyota was on him in seconds, her face inches from his, with a dagger leveled at his Adam’s apple; she was laughing and enjoying his pain entirely too much.

 

McCoy gripped her upper arms, cheating with the use of his hands. He threw her over his head. She landed poised on one knee and a hand pressed to the cushioned mat, ready to pounce like a lioness going in to kill her prey. McCoy jumped up, hands held out before him, ready for her next assault. When she ran for him, he lifted a leg, placing the sole of his foot in the center of her chest and pushing her down on her back. He slid between her legs, grabbing her wrists and holding them tightly above her head until she released her weapons.

 

The adrenaline coursed through his veins as he stared at the woman beneath him. He studied her face. There was no fear in her eyes. She’d seen death before. She was waiting for the comfort of darkness. They were more alike than he thought.

 

“Very good, Dr. McCoy,” Nyota raised her hips from the floor, pressing into his groin, “very good in deed.”

 

It wasn’t until she spoke that he became aware of his growing erection. He released her limbs and fell backwards.

 

“Don’t be embarrassed, there’s really no difference between a good fight and a first–class fuck.”

 

He was still willing the blood to other places in his body as she picked up her belongings and left the room.

 

 **~**

 

 

McCoy had lost track of the days and nights he’d spent on Pike’s ship. His family had been taken during the grueling heat of a Georgia summer. He brushed the thought from his mind; now was not the time to reminisce. That was the past. In the present there were two options: death, or living to one day see the face of the man who caused his pain. He walked the halls from medical to the gym and back to the quarters where he laid his head. The smell of a long forgotten delicacy, sweet potato pie, wafted towards his nose, cinnamon, spice, and vanilla swirled in an intoxicating bouquet from the pie cooling on the counter. Realization hit him, hard, in the center of his chest.

 

The season was fall.

 

It was November.

 

Four months had passed.

 

Right now - he should be holding a baby boy in his arms. He finished the evening in a haze, smothered by his memories and haunted by the images of what might have been. He responded when spoken to, nodded his head when it was appropriate, and finally climbed into his bed crying himself to sleep.

 

There was no rest that night, only torture as his dreams filled with visions of Jocelyn, Joanna, and a hazel eyed baby boy.

 

In his dreams the scenario played out differently. When the men attacked, he used his newly acquired skills to steer the outcome in a different direction. This time he paid attention to his wife’s warning. He demanded that Jocelyn and Joanna hide as he took on the intruders. He clawed and sliced through their bodies to prevent any further danger.

 

With a feral scream his hands clasped the throat of the visitor whose eyes had haunted McCoy since their first meeting. He watched as the man exchanged life for death with joy on his face. When he woke in tears, the prophetic words of his victim hung in the night air: “Welcome to the family.”

 

He was unaware of the spectator who watched at the door as he threw the sweat soaked sheets from his limbs – until the floor squeaked when she took that first step.

 

McCoy moved to wipe the tears from his eyes and then it didn’t matter; as Nyota came into view, he could see her eyes wet with unshed tears, her face distorted not in sympathy but empathy. She settled behind him on the bed, guiding his body against her as she smoothed down his hair.

 

“It was just a dream.” His lids lowered under the weight of her words. “In time it will get better.”

 

She repeated the mantra over and over again until he drifted back to sleep in the safety of her arms.

 

When the gentle voice of the computer began to woo him from sleep, McCoy half expected to find Nyota curled in a tight ball on the other side of the bed. He was disappointed when she was not. He would say thank you later as they engaged in a round of verbal judo. She would call him an emotional pussy.

 

The burden of the guilt and aching loss was still present; however, he found the burden bearable. 

 

He showered.

 

He dressed.

 

He argued with the man in the mirror, vowing that today would be the day he cut his hair and shaved the fuzz accumulating on his face. Then again, he found comfort in the unintentional makeover. A disguise to hide the real McCoy from the jaded world he now called home. He traced the scar on his chest before sliding the t-shirt over his head.

 

Eyes and ears tuned for _her,_ he stepped into the hall. He felt like running a couple of laps and getting the shit kicked out of him all before 0800.

 

The silence troubled him. There were no oversized goons fighting over the spoils of breakfast – no quiet murmurs seeping through the crack in Pike’s door. All that could be heard was the gentle hum of the ship.

 

The hair on the back of his neck stood.

 

Something wasn’t right.

 

Inside the quarters shared by Pike and Nyota, the kitchen was spotless, not a glass, plate, or pan out of place. Not even an apple or banana missing from the bowl of fruit on the counter.

 

There were no delicately formed footprints or tread marks from Pike’s chair on the carpet in the living room. Everything was the picture of perfection.

 

He started to sweat.

 

He could eat later. 

 

Traffic in the corridors of the ship was normal. He ignored the extended glances of the females he passed. His eyes scanned the crowd searching for the sway of the ponytail perched high above her head. He’d grown accustomed to spending the morning with her, defending himself against her physical and verbal attacks.

 

The gym was filled to capacity with younger crew members engaged in a sword fight that had already turned bloody. Patient visits would be higher than normal today. He stopped short of venturing to the bridge and instead decided to bury his concern in the research piled high on the desk in his office.

 

M’Benga fell into stride with McCoy a few paces from the medical wing of the ship. McCoy chose to pretend that the man beside him didn’t exist; he had grown tired of his fellow medical practitioner lurking in the shadows, waiting for Pike’s new toy to make a mistake. Honestly, he didn’t know how the glorified medicine man had even graduated from medical school. Maybe McCoy hadn’t made Pike walk but at least after four months under his care, the man’s health was improving.

 

He flinched when he felt M’Benga’s clammy hand grip his upper arm.

 

“What the hell?” McCoy struggled until he wrenched his arm from the man’s grasp and regained his freedom.

 

“Stop being a bitch and just come with me, McCoy.” The odor of stale liquor from M’Benga’s breath reached his nose before the man’s hand connected with him again.

 

McCoy again snatched his arm from the man’s reach. He dropped his voice to a low growl and issued an insult of his own. “Excuse me; the only bitch I see is the one who cried when he lost his exclusive rights to Sickbay.”

 

Before M’Benga’s fist could connect with McCoy’s face, the doctor had already clipped his foe behind his legs, forcing the man to take an ungraceful tumble to the floor below. He grabbed a handful of the man’s dreaded hair, urging him to his knees before pulling his head back and meeting his gaze. “Ask me nicely, _bitch_.”

 

McCoy didn’t recognize his own voice. He released the man, taking a step back, and the words from his dream roared to life. He was changing.

 

A strange look registered on the bowed man’s face. “You’re almost ready.”

 

McCoy stormed off in the direction of Sickbay, forgetting the ominous warning from his subconscious, the drunken slur of the man on the floor, and the fire blazing just beneath his skin.

 

~

 

The sound of Pike’s chair rolling against the tiled floor was all the introduction needed, yet there stood his security team, Giotto and Hernandez, announcing the captain’s arrival to Sickbay. It was comical until the terse tone of Pike’s voice greeted his ears.

 

“McCoy you should really consider _fucking_ following the orders you’re given. Remember who you have to thank for your miserable existence!”

 

His head shot up to meet Pike’s reddened face. The man was angry. It was deeper than anything McCoy had witnessed. Even during the man’s conversations about Kirk and Imperialistic bastards who’d fucked him in the ass, never had he allowed emotion to seep into his voice. Not like this. The doctor didn’t blink or move as he watched the wheelchair ridden man snap his fingers and motion for his goons to restrain McCoy.

 

He felt the heat from the laser scalpel before it pierced his skin. He listened to his flesh separate as Hernandez’s hand formed an incision an inch deep in the skin at the nape of his neck.

 

He bit down on the inside of his cheek forcing the water back into his eyes.

 

Pike maneuvered himself closer, enjoying every moment of the man’s pain. He leaned in to whisper in the doctor’s ear, “Next time, you’ll go when M’Benga asks. Learn to follow directions.”

 

McCoy saw the slim black metal in Pike’s hand. He was aware of the existence of neural implants and their use to make people virtual slaves. He twisted, wincing when a new pain registered at the back of his neck. He nearly cried when the device came closer.

 

“See boys, he’s not so big and bad now. He’s about to become my bitch.”

 

The tone in the Captain’s voice unsettled McCoy. He screamed when the man slapped the object in his skin, pushing it together as Giotto did a makeshift job with a dermal regenerator. When they returned his arms to his control he clawed at his neck.

 

He spat in Pike’s face, “Impotent fucking bastard.”

 

The man laughed as he wiped McCoy’s spit from his face. “You’re right, doctor, and that’s just what you’re going to help me with.”

 

Pike ordered his two escorts to leave; both threw a wary look in his direction and he waved off their concern. “He’s been spayed.”

 

McCoy didn’t feel different. There was no compulsion to bow, lick Pike’s boot covered feet, or even respond with a half-hearted “yes, master”. There was anger and rage, the very thing Pike spoke about during their first meal. Yes, now he was capable of channeling every bit of it.

 

“You hate me. I can feel it. That’s the beauty of that little thing in the back of your neck.” Pike held up a transmitter and pointed to a similar scar on the inside of his wrist. “Contrary to what you’ve read, doctor, I can’t control you – can’t make you bark like a dog – walk into walls – or beat yourself repeatedly in the head.”

 

“Then what can you do?” A sliver of relief washed over the doctor now that he knew he wasn’t a slave.

 

“Your emotions are so raw and untamed. You were made for this life. Dammit, McCoy, you must have Imperial blood.” Pike closed his eyes, savoring the high. He opened his eyes and softly answered McCoy’s question. “Everything you feel, taste, touch, or indulge in with your senses, with this, so can I.”

 

“You’re insane. Maybe I need to add another medication to your daily dose.” McCoy stood for the first time since Pike’s intrusion into his office. “What could you possibly want to experience through me that you can’t enjoy for yourself?”

 

When the words left McCoy’s mouth and his eyes connected with the figure walking across Sickbay’s threshold, the discussion was over. He knew the Captain’s endgame.

 

“I knew you’d figure it out, McCoy. Enjoy the rest of your day; tonight I let you take my favorite toy for a test drive.” Pike wheeled his chair around to face the door.

 

McCoy yelled after him, “Over my dead body, Pike.”

 

Pike whipped his chair around. “That can be arranged, doctor.” He paused. “Just take comfort in knowing that after you take your last breath, it’ll be Nyota’s turn to die.”

 

There was a very brief flicker in the center of the doctor’s chest. It twisted and coiled threatening to steal his breath. He knew Pike felt it, and the gleam that filled the man’s eyes brought back every painful emotion he’d fought to overcome since he arrived on the ship.

 

“Pity – another time, another place, this story would have had a happy ending.”

 

His was not the only life on the line. “I’ll do it.”

 

“I thought you’d see this my way. Consider it your end of the year bonus – job well done, McCoy.”


	5. Chapter 5

**_V._ **

 

 _If all along the fault is up for grabs why can’t you have it_

 _If it’s for sale what is your offer, I’ll sell it for no less than what I bought it for_

 _Pay no more than absolutely zero…_

 

 

 _ISS Avenger_

 _November 2253_

 

The balance shifted during the night and Nyota found her head buried in the center of McCoy’s chest, her head pillowed on the tufts of soft hair scattered about the planes of his upper body. She stroked the arms wrapped tightly around her frame. A rare and gentle smile lined her lips as she took in the sight of their legs, the intricate version of a human pretzel they formed as their ankles crossed and their limbs met in a tangled embrace. She moved in closer, willing her body to become one with his, wondering if this is what love felt like. Was this how he held the wife he’d lost? Did his hands glance over her back while the heat of his breath played in the space where her neck met shoulder?

 

Nyota had never been held by a man.

 

Not in all the nights she spent sleeping next to Pike. Yes, his fingers found her nipples and slipped between her thighs, but his touch held entitlement and ownership. He claimed to treasure her. Pike cited in his daily pontifications, as evidence of his long standing adoration, the fact that her body held no visible marks or scars sustained from physical beatings.

 

 _Bullshit._

 

What about her soul? What about the wounds buried so far beneath the surface, that he’d inflicted as he fucked her with words, appendages, and an array of devices? He called her worthless,  a mistake that her father would never acknowledge and one that he was graciously willing to take under his tutelage and protection. It didn’t feel like love.

 

Nyota couldn’t define love, not in the romantic sense. She’d experienced the unconditional love her mother, Amina, bestowed upon her until the day of her death. There was no instance she could recall of soft eyes meeting hers just before those sacred three words were uttered. Her subject base was minimal; she’d only shared her body with one other man besides Pike. Well, it had been a man–boy who managed to deflower her in less than five minutes as he humped, bucked, and sweated above her on the sands of Thalos IV.

 

This moment with McCoy was different.

 

She felt safe – needed – wanted.

 

Nyota’s lips grazed the pinkish hued scar on his chest. She planted soft kisses along each jagged line and raised edge as she grudgingly left his arms.

 

“Sweet dreams,” Nyota whispered before tiptoeing across the floor and out of his room, back to the quarters she shared with Pike.

 

Easing into the room with the depth of her attention focused on not awakening Pike, Nyota did not see the figure sitting with his back pressed against the headboard and a scowl hanging from his face.

 

“You smell like that trash across the hall.”

 

She paused in mid–step, noting the anger and jealousy in his voice.

 

“You’re weak – running to him in the middle of the night because he had a bad dream. He’s a tool – a means to an end. Get your heart off your sleeve or I will kill you and your little pet.”

 

Nyota walked to the bed, pulled the covers back, and lowered her body to the mattress. With all of his strength, Pike pushed her from the bed. She tumbled to the ground, cracking her head against the nightstand.

 

“See what you made me do?”

 

His voice sounded like a distorted transmission in her head; through tears and searing pain, she jumped to her feet and lunged for him. She hadn’t seen the wand in his hand, but there was no mistaking the currents that traveled through her body, paralyzing her limbs and forcing her to the ground.

 

Writhing in agony and fighting each volt of electricity, she managed to choke out, “I hate you.”

 

“I never wanted your love, Nyota; your hate, your anger is worth a hell of a lot more to me.”

 

Bile burned her throat as it rose from her stomach and filled her mouth. She was restrained, there was no need to continue with the shock treatment, but Pike pushed further, laughing as the contents of her stomach spilled from her mouth. He stopped briefly when she began to choke and lose consciousness, buzzing for his previous physician, M’Benga. Then the pain started at the base of her feet, traveling along the back of her legs, up her spine, and causing her brain to pound against her skull.

 

“You’re going to kill her – stop it, Pike,” M’Benga’s fear-stricken voice cut through the pain and reached Nyota’s ears. Then there was quiet and peace. She felt the doctor’s hands slide under her and lift her from the floor. He cradled her to his chest and she whimpered, tears streaming from her eyes as she vomited and defecated as a result of the brief round of torture.

 

“Fix her. Clean her up.” Those were the only commands Pike leveled to M’Benga.

 

He carried her to his quarters and proceeded to do undo the damage inflicted by Pike.

 

“Young one.” M’Benga always called her young one. He cut the clothes from her body and sponged her down before depositing her in a tub of ice cold water to shock her system back into working order.  M’Benga then placed Nyota under a stream of hot water in the shower. He stood with his back turned, granting her request for privacy.

 

“Young one, I’m sorry.”

 

There was sincerity in voice, even a hint of compassion.

 

“Don’t pity me.” It was her standard response to anyone and everyone that dared to look down on her.

 

“You don’t have my pity, Nyota – only my deepest apologies for what you will next endure.”

 

When he was confident that she was strong enough to stand without incident, he left her alone to finish her shower. She exited the bathroom and placed the provided robe on her body. He entered the anteroom bearing a steaming cup of tea that he handed to her and urged for her to take a sip, mumbling about the healing and comforting properties of a good cup of red tea.

 

“Pike will arrive shortly.”

 

Just the mention of the man’s name caused Nyota’s anger to spike, and she threw the mug against the wall.

 

“Use the weapons you’ve been given wisely, child.” M’Benga bent to retrieve the broken pieces of porcelain. “Break the man, not some worthless cup.” His fingers traced the curve of her cheek when he stood. “He can only break you if you allow it.”

 

The last words were merely a whisper as Pike and his chair entered the room.

 

 **~**

 

“You want him!” Pike’s fingers gripped her chin forcing her eyes to meet his. “It’s written all over your fucking face.” He formed a fist with his hand and she flinched as she prepared for the contact – another reason to add to the list she maintained of why this sorry excuse of a man would one day die by her hand. She held her head high in defiance. The wait was in vain.

 

Pike’s anger was as lame as his dick.

 

The man’s mood veered and he brushed his knuckles across her face. She cried this time, not out of anger but frustration. Why couldn’t he be consistent? That morning he had tortured her to the point of death without laying a finger on her, void of any concern for her well–being. Now here he was stroking her skin with calloused hands. She wanted his wrath, not his devotion.

 

“You’re my star.”

 

Her body trembled as his declaration sailed from his mouth to her ears.

 

Death was the only option, the lone road to her deliverance from the man before her. Taking Dr. M’Benga’s advice to heart, she would break the man.

 

Pike disclosed his plan as he pulled her face closer, brushing his lips against hers. “I want to know how it feels to be inside you.”  He was going to watch his new doctor fuck her, savoring every sensation by way of shared neural implants.

 

There was a brief melee as she tried and failed to avoid his kiss. She nearly bit his tongue in half. He pressed his mouth against hers, forcing his passion upon her. Her body was still weak and the only defense she had was not to buckle under his pressure. He could taste her lips, touch her in all the places he desired, but she wouldn’t give him a response.

 

The corners of Pike’s lips turned upwards and he twined his fingers through her long hair, wrapping it around his hand, tighter with each turn, and forced her head back, “You belong to me.” His shoved his other hand beneath her robe, pried her legs apart, and forced two fingers deep inside of her.

 

It was painful as he dove deeper with every stroke. She didn’t cry out from the discomfort. There was no natural lubrication from her body to aid in his task. He sucked his fingers and thrust them further inside. She didn’t move.

 

There was no feeling in her voice when she spoke. “I won’t give you what you want.”

 

Pike stopped. “Tonight you’ll give me everything I want and more.”

 

 **~**

 

 

Nyota did as Pike commanded for the remainder of the day.

 

It wasn’t out of fear, nor could it be attributed to her desire to be obedient.  Nyota felt nothing but contempt for Pike. He didn’t deserve her respect. Once he had saved her life, rescued her from a colony where only death would come to her, and the price she’d paid was to deny the woman she was raised to be. She hated him -- yet somewhere, buried under those layers of revulsion, Nyota was thankful. Tonight was an atypical show of Captain Pike’s power but it was a _chance, ­_ the rarest of opportunities to explore the fledgling emotions she’d ran from earlier that morning.

 

Fireworks exploded in her belly. 

 

Nyota’s happy nature was ephemeral. McCoy averted his eyes from her gaze when she entered Sickbay.

 

He was distressed. His hands raked the layers of his hair and roughly rubbed the thin beard framing his chin.

 

Would he deny her?

 

Find Pike’s offer distasteful? Opting for both their deaths instead of breaking a vow he’d honored until now.

 

Rejection…

 

How could she believe she would be deemed good enough to share his affection? His decision was understandable - regrettable but fully understandable. He did not cast his eyes in her direction again. However, based on the enormous smile on Pike’s face she was sure of the doctor’s answer. The butterflies in her stomach slowly returned to flight as she fell in line and followed Pike out of the door and into the corridor.

 

 **~**

 

Pike sat holding his breath as Nyota bathed in preparation for her night with McCoy. His hands were light as they dipped and scooped up warm water from the tub and smoothed into her delicate skin. It was an eerie contrast to the attention he bestowed earlier in the day. He watched in silence as she stepped from the bathing area uncovered. His chair whined as he followed her into the bedroom.

 

A single hand darted across the silken sheets adorning the bed as he continued in her wake. One finger hooked into the thong he’d selected – black see-through lace. Nyota didn’t protest when he held out the flimsy material in an offer to help her dress. His breath hitched as he slid the fabric up her body and in place. Next he slipped a revealing baby doll nightgown over her head. 

 

“I’ll be watching, so don’t get any smart ideas.”

 

Nyota shrugged her shoulders as she removed the stilettos from Pike’s shaky hands. He was an excited voyeur, impatiently waiting for his private show. The shoes were red, her favorite color, with long ribbon straps, and they sat on a mini crystal clear platform paired with a five inch heel. She teased him, bending over to tie the ribbon around one ankle – her ass perfectly level with his eyes. She shifted her attention to the next foot and felt his hands cover her behind. His breathing was deep. “Tighter…tie the laces tighter.” He just wanted to keep her in the position longer. “I’m going to tell him to take you like this _first_.” He whacked her bottom with one hand as a solitary finger pressed against the lace barely covering the hollow between her thighs. She swallowed her moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction. This had nothing to do with Pike and his wicked fingers -- it was all about her anticipation of what was to come.

 

Pike left the room and the weight of the situation settled around her. Yes, Nyota wanted to align herself with McCoy, find a way to escape from the life they now lived. It was business, and now the very thing she’d warned him about was threatening to the focus she’d maintained for years. Her body wanted him. Her mind had explored how he would feel. Blame it on the day in the gym and his impressive erection. The fight in the bathing pool and the underwater glimpse of what he had to offer. Or the tenderness with which he spoke his deceased wife’s name as he slept. Just a piece – a small slice was all she needed.

 

The air left Nyota’s lungs when she heard the door open. His scent was undeniable, somewhere between a crisp ocean breeze and cotton. There was also a hint of bourbon. He’d been drinking and when she finally turned and met those pained eyes, Nyota could see he had been crying. They were two of kind. Captives of their hearts; he still loved his wife and she longed for the family stolen from her. They were united in their cause because of shared disappointments and heartbreak.

 

“We don’t have to do this.” Her own words surprised her, but the turmoil written on his face was more than she was able to bear. It took him three steps to close the gap between them.

 

“I don’t want to die.” McCoy’s whisper echoed in Nyota’s ears.

 

“Neither do I.” She brushed a stray tear from his cheek, “Remember _we_ weren’t always these people.” Her fingers drifted to the disheveled locks of his hair. “I like your hair longer.”

 

His face softened and an easy grin broke through the frown he’d been wearing. “Red really is your color.”

 

She could only laugh…it was a stupid, misplaced giggle…that suited their moment perfectly.

 

Their bodies moved closer together and for a split second they both forgot the how and why that brought them there. His hands circled her waist and she draped her arms across his shoulders, staring into those eyes and she saw sadness, anger, but there was something strangely familiar.

 

When McCoy’s fingertips skimmed across her back she felt it – wonder and curiosity. He needed her. She could hear it in the deep intakes of breath he used to fill his lungs. It was written in the caress of his hands as he tugged at her hair.

 

Nyota’s body shivered when McCoy traced lines across her shoulders and pushed off the straps with each movement. One step – two steps and there was only silence as the distance between them grew. Her breasts were cataloged and surveyed by his eyes. There was no hesitation in the dance she did as the gown shimmied with each sway and the fabric rolled down her body and pooled onto the floor.

 

The fear was evident on McCoy’s face and Nyota willingly took the lead. The negative space was erased and his eyes fell shut when her hands slipped under his shirt. His hands were raised in cooperation as the shirt was lifted up and off. There was a barely audible sigh when her lips connected with the scar on his chest.

 

“I’m sorry this happened to you.” Standing now, eyes aligned with his, she could see he was crying again. “I’ll be whatever you need.”

 

In a flash, it was as though McCoy suddenly remembered what it meant to be a man. He pulled Nyota to him with such force. His hands were rough as they clawed at her flesh, his kisses brutal as his teeth and lips nipped and sucked at the base of her neck. This was their first experience and it was a flurry of genteel and violent motions. There was pain and even a little blood. Nyota found it hard to reconcile that this was sex and intimacy in all its forms. Discomfort outweighed the enjoyment. This man was no different from Pike.

 

“I’m sorry.” Nyota was stunned by his words, and her body fully submitted to McCoy.

 

His lips were full of apologies when her nipple was encased between them.

 

His fingertips played a sorrowful melody as they stroked her to orgasm over and over again.

 

She was on the brink of another – white light and warm energy filling her to the core -- when the pain began, the disjointed rhythm of her brain beating against her skull.

 

The night ended with a round of torture.

 

Pike had found another method of control.

 

In the midst of it all she could hear McCoy as he screamed her name, the image of him a blur as he wrestled to reach the wand directing her pain. Her entire body longed for the peaceful connection one touch from him would provide but she was frozen by Pike’s hand.

 

It took her a week to recover under M’Benga’s care.

 

McCoy was banned from Nyota’s presence. The next time they saw one another it was in a sparsely decorated room.  She was there to play voyeur along with Pike. A young yeoman was escorted to the bed by Giotto. Her eyes were blue and empty, her body completely bare, and her fingers were stretched, twisted in the loose fabric of the doctor’s pants.

 

Anger became Nyota’s shield as she was forced to watch McCoy join with not only that woman but another and another – night after night. Her hands ached from the constant abuse as they were hurled into walls and beaten against the glass in an attempt to break the barrier that separated her from the salacious scenes before her. Nyota cared about McCoy. Her madness was not steeped in jealousy as she saw other women please his body – she knew that he would never forgive himself. She hated to watch his descent into darkness.

 

And there was Pike with the unmitigated gall to reach for her hand as they watched a nameless woman drop to her knees and take McCoy between her lips. “He likes when she tastes him there.”

 

With the transmitter extended towards her face he continued. “He wants you to do that.” There was a delay in the continuation of his speech and the distinct mark of anger on his face as the next words emanated from his lips. “He wants _you_.” Another pause. “She doesn’t smell like you – feel like you – moan like you.” Nyota noted the obvious tension in Pike’s jaw before his face turned and her eyes met his. “He _wants_ you.”

 

Nyota was disgusted, and she refused to engage in Pike’s twisted game any longer.  The Captain’s goons were on her before she had a chance to leave the room. She could kill every man in that room without regret or a second thought. She didn’t. Pike came forward, saying, “Let her go. Heartbreak is the only punishment she’ll receive tonight.”

 

She was down the hall and in her room before her lashes were weighted with tears.

 

Weeks passed before an allowance was made.

 

Finally they shared a night.

 

One full stroke and she was filled with his rigid length. His mouth was on her ear and her weight had barely shifted before he exploded inside of her. She couldn’t quite make out the words but it sounded almost like he missed her. As if he sensed her confusion, the statement was repeated, “I missed you.” Fingertips lingered on the ridge of her nose before a chaste kiss filled the void they left.

 

The following morning Nyota was awakened by the computer’s voice. The day seemed brighter and the tension housed in her body had been released. She lamented the empty space beside her. She was greeted by Pike’s warm smile at breakfast. They didn’t speak. Her fork speared her fruit and she waited.

 

“He’s gone.”

 

There was no explanation offered as she ran down the hallway to the doctor’s vacant room.


	6. Chapter 6

**_VI._ **

 

 _I wish I had missed the first time that we kissed_

 _Cause you broke all your promises…_

 

 

 _ISS Enterprise_

 _July 2258_

 

McCoy was equally frightened and relieved to see Nyota upon entering the transporter room. The Captain had summoned him to meet the latest addition to the crew and offer his stamp of approval. There was far too much power entrusted to the doctor; he’d endorsed wayward souls to stave off the hand of death, written transfer requests before murderous intent could be completed, and euthanized his fair share of wounded colleagues to end their suffering.

 

Today, McCoy expected more of the same.

 

Nyota’s face was flushed upon materialization. Her eyes were wide as she surveyed the staff and the space around her. Only the repetitive drum of the doctor’s heart could be heard in his ears. He was thankful for the reaction the sight of her created. There was a part of him that still proved to be humane, capable of something more than vengeance. There were slight changes, physical and emotional, in the gangly young woman he’d become acquainted with five years before. She had gained weight, and as his eyes shifted to the curve of her hips, he couldn’t help but think that her frame would benefit from at least ten additional pounds. She was still beautiful and deadly. The Captain and the goblin were enamored with the ship’s newest officer. Nyota’s past words echoed in McCoy’s head and reminded him of the wisdom she once shared about men and their basest sexual urges.

 

They avoided direct eye contact for fear that their familiarity would be observed. On the outside she appeared unharmed, but he could read the edge in her movements, the hesitation in each shift of her weight and the hand that rested on the dagger hidden just beneath her skirt. He'd spent four years and eight months concerned about her condition, worried that Pike would take his games of torture too far and M’Benga would be unable to restore her. His body was so completely tuned to Nyota and her present condition that he didn’t realize the Captain now stood beside him. There was pomp and circumstance in Kirk’s declaration that McCoy was the only man he trusted with his life.

 

Idiot, thought McCoy; the doctor’s mission was mere days from completion. James Tiberius Kirk would know death by his hand.

  
McCoy moved forward and extended his hand to the doe eyed woman. Their movements were synchronized – a choreographed test of wills - as he stepped backwards and she descended the platform. A current of electricity shot through him when her fingers entwined with his; the wasteland of a doctor’s mind unearthed long forgotten memories - the feel of her skin against his tongue, labored breaths that tickled the base of his neck, and the pure delight that radiated from her face when he bested her during one of their battles.  He allowed his hand to linger longer than necessary before growling an order at her and exiting the room.

 

His steps were slow as he found his way the ship’s medical wing. The lies that had been told were quickly coming to an end; his transfer from the Avenger to the Enterprise had occurred overnight. The integration into the Enterprise family was practically seamless. A fictionalized back story, regarding McCoy’s whereabouts since the death of his wife and child, had been created for Captain Kirk’s sole benefit. They believed him to be a man with nothing left to lose and willing to serve under the ones who had stolen it all.

 

He breezed past Nurse Chapel and sickbay’s only patient. His head held high and his gaze dark and intense, McCoy’s composure crumbled once in the confines of his office. The doctor’s hand drifted to the back of his neck where the implant had rested under his skin years before. He traced the scar with the tips of his fingers. That was another life and time, now he was stronger and ready to accept the inevitable role of justice dealer. His hands held the power of life and death. His work was evidenced in the halls of the ship and the walls of the operating room. That was another life and time; now he was stronger and ready to accept the inevitable role of justice dealer. His hands held the power of life and death. His work was evidenced in the halls of the ship and the walls of the operating room. He regretted that Pike would never share in the enjoyment of watching James Kirk take his last breath, nor would he know the pleasure that McCoy would derive for personally ending his crippled mentor's miserable existence.

~

 

 _ISS Enterprise_

 _November 2253_

 

McCoy didn’t remember being pulled from the bed where he slept with Nyota. When his eyes opened the following morning he was on a foreign vessel – naked with a neurolytic restraint pressed deeply into the flesh of his neck. Bright lights burned his eyes as the doors to his makeshift cell parted and a pair of pants were tossed haphazardly at his form.

 

“Dress – quickly.”

 

Languages had always been Jocelyn’s thing but there was no question that the tonal patterns were those of a Vulcan, one from a ruling class family. McCoy did as he was ordered. The man stood, hands clasped behind his back, no facial expression visible that would betray his emotions. When McCoy’s task was completed, the Vulcan motioned for him to step forward. The restraint was removed.

 

“Doctor McCoy, please follow me.” The man turned on his heel and the doctor was hard pressed to catch up with his guide. They exited the lower bowels of the ship. The floor was cool against the balls of his feet until the repetitive steps began to cause an irritable sensation in the tender skin. The discomfort he felt was forgotten when his eyes met the identification code just below the door’s keypad.

 

 **ISS Enterprise (NCC – 1701)**

 

McCoy was aboard the death dealer’s ship.

 

A thread of excitement weaved its way through his veins. Soon he would have answers and revenge. He would receive retribution for the lives of his loved ones that had been lost. He could end the journey to darkness and rest.

 

The doctor was snatched from his peaceful thoughts by his companion’s monotone voice.

 

“You are aboard the Imperial Starship Enterprise where James T. Kirk is Captain. You are expected to perform your duties to the utmost of your ability. Mediocrity will result in death.”

 

McCoy knew better than to question the words that were spoken. He wondered if they were aware where the last four months of his life had been spent. His limbs were seized by two guards when they reached the Captain’s quarters. He was pulled into the main room, bound by the wrists and ankles.

 

“Good evening, doctor.”

 

There was amusement in the Captain’s voice and eyes. It reminded him of Pike. He recognized the wand in the man’s hand, the tool used to torture Nyota aboard the Avenger.

 

“Welcome home, Dr. McCoy.”

 

Never had he expected to lay eyes on that mop of curly hair or those empty blue eyes again in his life. There before him was his earthly visitor, the recruiter who had orchestrated the kill order that had stolen McCoy’s family.  He was still fresh faced but his body held scars, a few delivered by the doctor’s hand during their last meeting.

 

McCoy struggled against his restraints. “I’m going to fucking gut you like a fish,” he screamed viciously in the young man’s direction.

 

The Captain offered no correction; he only extended the wand he held in the doctor’s direction. The pain started at the base of McCoy’s neck, and he became violently ill. He refused to succumb to his body’s weakness. “I can’t wait to make you suffer,” he managed between gurgles and retches.

 

The voice was his own, but he did not recognize the vengeance or the hatred that laced his tongue. Captain Kirk stood before him and tossed the device aside.

 

“Why do you hate young Chekov? Family does nothing but hold you back from that beautiful, raw intensity you possess inside. Unleash the beast, let it go. You should thank him – embrace him for the freedom he afforded you, doctor.”

 

In that moment, Kirk reminded him of Pike. “Fuck you, pretty boy.” A cocktail of spit and vomit was projected from McCoy’s mouth and landed on the Captain’s face. “I’ll kill you too.”

 

There was no time to breathe before he felt two hands wrap around his throat. The Captain’s crystal blue eyes were trained on his face, void of any emotion, as he said, “I like you. I love your fight, but I will end this little battle before it starts.” McCoy had no doubt that the Captain fully intended for his windpipe to be crushed and his life ended. “Do you understand?” One thing he remembered from the time spent on the Avenger was to play the game. McCoy’s arms slackened in the restraints and his head rolled forward.

 

Kirk rewarded his subservience. “Release him.”

 

The introductory torture had been minimal. In the days that followed, McCoy was closely guarded by the ship’s first officer and a small detail of men. He was escorted to sickbay and back to his quarters. He took small meals in the confines on his room. He did not engage in frivolous conversations or wasted battles with the crew. Much like the short time he spent in service under Pike, McCoy’s knowledge and prowess opened the door to additional freedoms; his security team went from two to one and finally none.

 

During his second week aboard the Enterprise, mutiny occurred in the early hours of the morning. A wayward officer’s woman took too many of Lieutenant Sulu’s words to heart during intimacy. Inspired by dirty epithets whispered in her ears during various sexually adventurous positions, she formed a plan. The execution of the plan failed miserably. Before she could enter the Captain’s quarters, her heart ceased to beat after being impaled by the First Officer’s sword.

 

Sulu fought admirably, only to have several of his internal organs mutilated by the same blade.

 

McCoy heard the door to his bedroom open; a handful of his hair was grabbed. He found himself deposited in the hallway.  The ship’s current CMO was decapitated before McCoy’s eyes. He was swimming in pools of blood, surrounded by death.

 

“Save him.”

 

He didn’t understand the broken gibberish that met his ears. He was stunned silent by the sea before him. Chekov’s goons tugged on his head and snatched him to his feet.

 

“Save him – now.”

 

The despair was what McCoy understood first as his eyes fell on Sulu’s lifeless body. He walked in tandem with the men to his left and right.

 

He scrubbed in…

 

Arranged his tools…

 

Twelve hours passed, a knife at his jugular, and the fragile existence of a notorious killer at the tips of his fingers.

 

Dr. McCoy saved Sulu’s life -- then, without a second thought, he snapped Chekov’s neck and buried the man’s blade in the heart of the man he’d just spent hours saving.

 

“Eye for an eye,” McCoy muttered as he staggered out of the OR and into the bright lights of his sickbay.

 

~

 

The doors hissed and the Captain’s presence filled McCoy’s office.

 

“Bones.”

 

His head snapped up at the use of his nickname.

 

“What?” he growled as he searched for a fresh bottle of liquid to fill his glass.

 

“The Lieutenant…” McCoy heard the question in Kirk’s voice, read the smirk that played at his lips. “I want her – make it happen.”

 

Really, he didn’t need another reason to kill James T. Kirk, but the added excuse was welcome.


	7. Chapter 7

**_VII._ **

 

 _I’ll sing it one last time for you_

 _Then we really have to go_

 _You’ve been the only thing that’s right_

 _In all I’ve done…_

 

 

 _ISS Enterprise_

 _July 2258_

 

The recycled air flowing through the vents of the Enterprise smelled vaguely sweet, borderline heavenly. Nyota’s fingers trailed along the metallic walls as she covered the short distance from the medical wing to her quarters. Her eyes drifted to each and every detail, the contrast between the varying colors of each area and sub – section - the curves and contours of corners and doorframes - the sound of her boots as she padded across the floor. It was odd, finding comfort in a place that mirrored life on the Avenger. Here, for the first time in five years, Nyota experienced the pleasure gained with independence. For too long, she’d lived under Captain Christopher Pike’s brutal tutelage. She was viewed as his property; reduced to a tool used solely for _his_ entertainment, revenge, or worship. A shell of the individual Amina Uhura raised her only child to be. Nyota never reconciled herself to her station in the life shared with Pike, but she maintained the state as a means of survival. Now she walked the halls alone, unaccompanied by her former security detail, and free to do as she pleased.

 

The darkness of the room did not unnerve her when she entered. Nyota took a moment to enjoy her privacy. She was certain that, given the opportunity, Captain James Tiberius Kirk would change that fact. Nyota recognized the demons of lust, and there was a legion at the disposal of the ship’s chief commander. Kirk’s eyes lingered on her skin longer than necessary. The sight of his tongue skimming the surface of chapped ruby red lips filled the darkness behind her lids. Violent thoughts consoled her when she recalled the fingertips that brushed against her skin when they spoke earlier in her quarters. Much like Pike, Kirk disgusted Nyota.

 

Since first meeting Pike, Nyota had subscribed to the notion that vengeance, not jealousy, fueled his master plan. The young Kirk was everything Christopher Pike had once been, handsome, self – sufficient, and a god amongst men. Now he was a lonely, hopeless crippled, seduced by his own delusions of grandeur, waiting to be returned to a throne that was no longer inscribed with his name. Nyota knew it was difficult to submit to another, when he was used to being the one in control. Surely, that was why the man had gone rogue, giving in to the insanity that comforted him when his body failed. Kirk, the Empire’s golden boy, commandeered the attention of his crew and _enemies_. Quadrants separated the Enterprise from the Avenger, yet Pike seethed, daily, reviewed his plan, fine tuned the details, and waited for the seeds he’d planted in his tentative alliance with Doctor McCoy to come to fruition.

 

McCoy…

 

It was hard for Nyota to comprehend what the doctor stirred within her. She wanted to smile upon seeing his entrance into the transporter room - literally smile, corners of her mouth turned upwards, eyes bright, arms open waiting for a requisite hug, and a moment of abandon.

 

There had been no goodbye five years before. The last night they spent together had been a testament to their friendship, maybe _something_ more. She understood him, the desire for answers, and the need for closure. The terrors that awakened him during periods of peaceful slumber were all things she had endured and still experienced. It had been torture, as Nyota lay next to him, frozen, as she listened to the feelings he still held for his dead wife. She never uttered a word about the arms that wrapped around her waist and the soft whispers of “Jocelyn” into her hair. Just as Nyota had been Pike’s vessel of pleasure, she was the ghost of the woman McCoy quietly mourned.

 

Nothing could come of her fascination with the doctor. She was a murderer…a whore…someone he could never love.

 

Nyota brushed the stream of tears from her eyes just as the door chimed. She set her face to stone and relayed a command, “Enter.”

 

An hour had not passed since she left his office. She didn’t know if memories were to blame for his somber mood, or if something had occurred during the time they spent apart. He didn’t leave her to the powers of her imagination.

 

“Kirk wants you.”

 

She struggled to identify the meaning of the emotion hidden in his tone.

 

“Of course he does.”

 

Kirk was a man, just like Pike, and McCoy. Enticement was the easiest part of the plan; making sure his life and reign of tyranny ended would be the challenge.

 

“Business as usual…gaining vengeance by way of your bedroom talents…”

 

Nyota was disturbed by the truth in his words. The dagger against her thigh was unsheathed and pressed against his jugular within seconds. “Still that backwoods pussy incapable of defending himself.”

 

She was taken by surprise when the blade was wrenched from her hand, and by the pain that accompanied the doctor’s defensive reaction. She hissed when he twisted her right arm behind her back. There was no stress or strain highlighted on his face, but his eyes were cold and dark. Fear washed over her as she struggled to break free only to bring additional spikes of discomfort in the muscles of her forearm.

 

“I’ve changed, Nyota. Disrespect me again and I will…”

 

“You’ll what?” She paused, searching the face she no longer recognized. “Beat me…rape me…kill me? Fuck you Leonard McCoy and the sanctimonious bullshit you’re feeding yourself.” He released his grip, but she went on. “You’re an excellent student. First Pike, then Kirk - I’m sure you really know how to show a girl a good time.”

 

She didn’t flinch when his fist came up to meet her face. It never connected, but his intent was fully conveyed.

 

“What happened to you?”

 

She filled her veins with ice and refused to melt under the tenderness housed in his voice, and she turned her back to him.

 

“Not in the mood to talk about it tonight.”

 

His hand landed on her shoulder. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there.”

 

She shrugged off his touch. “Had you stayed, we’d both be dead.”

 

He pressed further, filling her space with his presence. Gone was the misogynist from the exam room. His fingers laced through the strands of her hair. He lowered his chin to her shoulder and whispered, “Tell me.”

 

He held her tighter when her tears freely began to fall.

 

 **~**

 

 _ISS Avenger_

 _February 2254_

 

It took Nyota’s body three months to recover from Pike’s torture. She lay in stasis, unresponsive to external stimuli, but capable of hearing everything around her. M’Benga expressed his thankfulness for her survival. His voice lowered when he noted that the possibility of her body being able to reproduce would be limited or impossible.

 

The doctor delivered his findings to Pike.

 

“Is she capable of fucking - that’s my only concern.”

 

Her eyes opened after he left the room.

 

M’Benga brushed the hair from her forehead. “Sleep longer, young one, stay safe.” Her eyes slid closed with the aid of the hypospray in his hand.

 

Nyota returned to the gym. Training became an escape. She worked through maneuvers with an invisible partner. Her attention focused on every punch, kick, and swing of her blade. She would find redemption in Pike’s death.

 

When her body returned to form, he brought the first visitor to their room, a barely of legal age ensign with an awful stench. The kid took her without warning, thrusting inside of her repeatedly without concern for her enjoyment. She refused to give Pike the tears he desired.

 

She smiled and laughed, ignoring the raw ache at her center. A strangled cry left her throat as his seed burned her sensitive walls.

 

Pike pulled his chair beside the bed. His lips hovered above her ear. “He’s not coming back.”

 

 **~**

 

 

 

 _ISS Enterprise_

 _July 2258_

 

 

Nyota could barely breathe. With every word from her lips, his arms wrapped tighter about her waist. She could feel his heart pounding against her back. His breathing was ragged and irregular. He was angry. He cared. She ignored the small voice at the back of her mind and pulled her body from the embrace.

 

He reached for her wrist and forcefully steered her body back to his. He cradled her head against his chest. “Don’t, Nyota…don’t.”

 

Gone was the hostility from their previous conflict. She accepted the reassurance he offered, met the lips that drifted closer to hers, welcomed the fingers that danced along her skin.

 

“You said we weren’t always these people.” She reminded him of his words from the prior conversation in his office. “Who am I to you?”

 

Her voice played between raspy and light as she traced the fresh scar outlining his left eye.

 

McCoy grabbed her hand and placed it against his lips, “You’re strength, power, and beauty, wrapped in an extremely addictive package.”

 

This time it was different when his hands slipped beneath her skirt. There was no ill intent, no prodding or outside influence. She could feel the desire in his touch, the need in his lips. He was gentle with every motion. His eyes were trained on her features as he explored new planes. He was aggressive and tender and the contrast was intoxicating. He removed her clothes, unzipped her boots, and scooped her up into his arms. The rhythm of his heart had changed. It was still repetitive and drumming in tune to some imaginary rhythm. His eyes were crisp green orbs that studied her face.

 

“Nyota.”

 

It wasn’t what he said but the words hidden behind his tongue. When he placed her in the middle of her bed, she was inclined to believe this was a coma induced dream. McCoy couldn’t possibly be in her room, naked before her, and ready to fulfill her every need. She’d missed his hands; the heat from his skin as he drew lazy circles from her inner calf, to her hip, and finally her core. Soon his hand was replaced by an eager mouth and warm tongue.

 

Tonight it was her own name that was spoken against her clit. There was no mention of a past love and buried memories.

 

“Tell me what you feel.”

 

Nyota’s response was immediate, “Adoration.” There was no hesitation or need for reflection. In this moment with McCoy she felt something that had never touched her heart before.

 

She was unsure when the tears began to fall again. He gave up wiping the water from her eyes and instead he buried himself deeper inside of her temple and prayed for their deliverance.

 

Terror crept between them as she slept. Her uncertainty spurred the tirade in which she forced him from her bed and out of her quarters. It hurt too much to feel. There was pain in acknowledging the role she had played in her own unhappiness.


	8. Chapter 8

**_VIII._ **

 

 _They could have warned you_

 _When things start splitting at the seams and now_

 _The whole thing’s tumbling down…_

 

 

 _ISS Enterprise_

 _October 2258_

 

James Tiberius Kirk proved to be a difficult target. It was obvious to everyone who spent a second in his presence that the Captain wanted the ship’s newest female officer. He had spoken the words, enlisted the help of his _friend_ McCoy, and made his desires known to the woman in his sights. The first officer had warned him to reconsider his actions; it was not feasible to devote an exorbitant amount of time and energy on such a self centered, project focused on adding to his bevy of women. Nyota heard the Vulcan’s cautious words and reported them immediately to McCoy.

 

“Now – we strike now.” Her delicate fingers balled into a menacing fist. Repeatedly she beat his desk as she spoke, “The natives are restless. There is talk of treason. His attentions are divided. Now, Leonard we do it now.”

 

McCoy couldn’t disagree with Nyota’s conclusion; he had heard the same rumblings. There was a small, yet influential contingent of the crew whose loyalty to the First Officer continued to expand. Some cited Kirk’s tyrannical rule and others the condition of their lives aboard the ship.

 

“Okay,” the doctor responded in agreement despite his reservations.

 

He watched as Nyota played coy with Kirk in the gym. He reflected on their conversations and schemes. She would seduce the Captain. Welcome him to her bed, and in turn she’d gain his trust between illicit musings and orgasms.

 

That day, the plan slowly began to unfold. She batted her lashes, twisted her hips, and called the doctor to the mat. They had done this dance before on the Avenger. McCoy anticipated Nyota’s moves and responded accordingly. He blocked her blows before she could strike his face, ribs, or stomach. He caused her steps to falter without the use of his hands. Finally, he pinned her to the ground and immediately regretted his easy compliance.

 

Nyota’s legs wrapped around his waist, he felt the heat of her body through the thin material preventing them from becoming one. She brushed against him and a haughty smile graced her features. McCoy’s erection grew, much to his dismay, as they continued their physical and mental battle. Her skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. Her scent drifted to his nose. They had been here before. He licked his lips in hungry anticipation for the taste of her tongue. Nyota raised her head and their mouths barely touched.

 

The Captain’s hasty exit out the doors pulled them from their hazardous trance.

 

“Shit,” McCoy muttered before he struggled to his feet and hurriedly followed Kirk’s path out the door. Just as he had watched the Captain chase Nyota in vain, McCoy had also witnessed, first hand, the beautiful vixens that died as a result of Kirk’s hand and the dangerous proclivities he enjoyed.

 

McCoy worried for Nyota’s safety in the event that their plan proved successful. The idea of any time she spent alone with the Captain greatly disturbed the ship’s chief medical officer. Yes, she could handle her own protection, but how would her defense be perceived? Mutiny could be used as a motive for her murder, and the thought of losing someone else at the hands of the Empire sickened the doctor.

 

And now he had allowed his body to stake claim to a woman already viewed as the Captain’s property.

 

Until then, Kirk had held McCoy in the strictest of confidence, and he stood a chance at sustaining both his life and Nyota’s. The Captain was a man who rarely listened to reason. For a while McCoy had his ear. Yes, any attempted interference would only be tolerated for so long, and now that prospect had been rendered hopeless.  

 

As McCoy approached Kirk’s agitated form in the hall, his mind raced with potential explanations. He had never intended for his riot inciting leader to observe the true nature of his relationship with Nyota.

 

“Have you fucked her?” Kirk’s voice was steady and surprisingly calm as he questioned McCoy.

 

The doctor took a breath and prepared for the assault that would surely come in response to his answer.

 

The Captain interrupted, “Don’t answer. It’s all over your face.” Kirk regained his confidence and stalked McCoy as if he were his prey. “I suspected something. You never left her alone with me. Your eyes lingered on the door long after she was gone.” He pointed at the doctor. “It’s not lust – you love her.”

 

McCoy swallowed the lump in his throat and prepared for the inevitable. James T. Kirk had to die before he could lay one finger on Nyota. He reached for Jim’s throat just as the Captain’s hands wrapped around his. They were granted a reprieve by the flashing lights accompanied by the animated voice of the ship’s computer alerting the crew of the imminent danger threatening the ship.

 

Their hands dropped and both men ran in the direction of the bridge.

 

 

 **~**

 

Nyota stood in front of the door of the gym, her hand pressed against the cool metal, and her forehead followed suit. She was unable to decide her next move. McCoy was in the hall with the Captain, who had just viewed an inappropriate display between two of his officers. Her friend – her lover’s life was in jeopardy. If she chose to save him and circumvent any punishment Kirk could render, their plan and the justice she had been promised for so many years would evaporate. She placed one foot before the other and stepped towards the door. She paused when she felt the hand on her shoulder.

 

“Come with me now, Nyota.”

 

The soothing voice of the ship’s First Officer quieted the storm her nerves had begun to wage. When she turned, Nyota met Spock’s eyes. She hadn’t heard him enter from the room’s rear door. He was dressed in a simple black tee and pants, a phaser on his hip and a dagger in his grip. The hand that had previously landed on her shoulder was held palm up and waiting for acceptance. The whine of the ship’s alert system attacked her ears.

 

“Quickly, we do not have much time.” He urged her to take his hand. “Captain Pike will board the ship in 0.45 seconds.”

 

Her body tensed at the mention of her former controller’s name. Spock had just made her decision. She rushed out the door into the commotion building in the halls. She scanned the area for Kirk and McCoy. Her eyes did not find them.

 

Nyota’s steps started as full, purposeful strides before they morphed into a desperate run. She steered her body between frantic crew members through the corridors as she headed for the bridge. She pulled the dagger from the hiding place against her spine in preparation for what she might find once she reached the ship’s center of operation.

 

The doors parted, permitting her access. There she found McCoy, Kirk, and Pike.

 

“The beautiful Nyota Uhura joins us, gentleman.” Pike motioned for her to come and stand beside him. “How I have missed you my precious wandering star.”

 

The blade in her grasp shook, when his fingers brushed the back of her hand.

 

“Boys, there is no need to fight over her; she has and always will belong to me.” Pike entwined his fingers with Nyota’s, saying to her, “You were to go with Spock until I disposed of these two lust - crazed idiots.”

 

Nyota found her voice. “You don’t own me.”

 

Captain Kirk chose that moment to mount his offensive. He charged forward, ripping the dagger from her hand with the intention of burying the blade in the center of Pike’s chest. His attempt was thwarted by the appearance of a long sword from beneath the blanket covering Pike’s legs. Kirk’s eyes rolled back in his head as he tumbled backwards to the floor and gasped for the air that comprised his last breath.

 

Captain Pike set the command to seal the bridge, preventing anyone from entering or exiting.

 

“I gave you everything, Nyota-- a home, my affections, and that miserable piece of shit and his dick.”

 

Her eyes fell to Jim’s lifeless body.

 

“You repay me by aligning with the good doctor.” Pike’s hand gripped her thigh. “For what? Love?” He tightened his hold and familiar currents shot through her. “It doesn’t exist, it’s a myth. He didn’t save his precious Jocelyn and he’ll watch you die right now without lifting a finger.”

 

Nyota’s vision clouded. She didn’t see the wand, only his glove covered hand against the material covering her skin.

 

“Handy little tool.” He dug his fingers deeper into her muscles. “Does the same job as the wand.”

 

Her knees began to knock. Her dagger was still in Kirk’s hand.

 

McCoy was fear stricken and at least six feet away from her. M’Benga had warned her before that any more rounds of Pike’s favorite brand of torture would cause her to venture beyond death’s door. The rate of her pulse slowed. The beats of her heart stopped – started – stopped. She reached for the small knife in waist band of her pants. The doctor’s eyes widened when he realized her plan. He took a step and Pike stilled him when his hold on Nyota produced a violent reaction from her body. It was just the distraction she needed.

 

The tip of the blade met his jugular. Nyota forced it in before she collapsed to the ground. It was a death blow. Pike met a fate similar to his most despised enemy.

 

Finally – the end.

 **~**

 

 

McCoy fell down beside where Nyota’s body lay.

 

He brushed her cheek.

 

She convulsed.

 

His eyes burned with tears. He hated the feelings of failure that ebbed and flowed to the surface. This was too familiar, an eerie experience of déjà vu that he did not want to endure.

 

The computer did not respond to the countless commands he tried in earnest. He ran to the lift door and clawed at the small opening between the panels.

 

He returned to her side, “Stay with me, Nyota. Fight --don’t give up now.”

 

She choked on the blood and vomit pooling at the corners of her mouth, “Leave…get out…”

 

He wanted to shake her. Instead he gave her his words with full intensity and emotion. “I’m not your father, Nyota. I won’t leave you.”

 

McCoy cradled her to his chest and lifted her from the ground.

 

The door opened to reveal Spock, phaser aimed and ready to fire.

 

The Vulcan had an uncanny ability for appearing just in the nick of time. McCoy trusted him, despite their present circumstances. “The ship is yours, just let us go.”

 

The first officer, now Captain, nodded and directed two members of the security personnel to escort the doctor and barely conscious Nyota to the shuttle bay.

 

“McCoy.” The doctor halted his movements in response to Spock’s call. “You are a brave and honorable warrior. Peace and long life to you both.”

 

He didn’t respond to his colleague’s pronouncement. Life seeped from the woman’s body in his arms and she was his first priority.

 

The crew celebrated the loss of their Captain as McCoy ran the distance from the bridge to the medical shuttle. He placed Nyota’s body on the small bed in the rear compartment and stabilized her vitals. Time was against him as he scanned a brief tutorial on how to pilot the transport and set his course for…freedom.


	9. Epilogue

**_Epilogue: Endlessly_ **

 

 _There’s a part in me you’ll never know_

 _The only thing I’ll never show…_

 

 

 _Savannah_ _, GA_

 _Spring 2259_

 

McCoy was surprised to find that he still considered the house, on West Jones in historic Savannah, home. His nimble fingers found the key hidden beneath a flower pot on the first step. Six years and many things remained the same; the hand painted wind chime his daughter made for their last Father’s day rustled with the breeze, the heavy scent of lavender, patchouli, and vanilla that hung in the air once he entered the home, and Jocelyn’s rooftop garden, a beautiful landscape of lush green and crisp white. There were also differences his eyes pinpointed; family photos were non – existent, gone was the portrait of Joanna’s ear pressed to his wife’s rounded belly. New paint and furniture masked memories and attempted to conceal the pain trapped in the house’s walls. As he tiptoed along the hardwoods, the floors creaked and cried a somber expression of the loneliness he still had not found the words to convey.

 

Debriefings had plagued his life for the months spent in psychological and emotional recovery.

 

When his shuttle was intercepted by The Resistance, there was hesitation in treating their injuries and welcoming McCoy and Nyota to their base. Once concessions were made and the doctors worked to repair the damage that had been done to McCoy and his companion, he breathed easier. He shared the information he knew in reference to the twisted game that played out between Pike and Kirk for so many years. He was allowed to visit and aid in the administration of Nyota’s care. He sat next to her bed, holding her hand in his as her body fought to heal. When Nyota regained consciousness, she was put under guarded supervision and McCoy’s access to her was restricted.

 

Days later, the doctor was released to the life he had known before the Empire’s intrusion.

 

Again, he left without saying goodbye.

 

McCoy missed Nyota, and not just because he was in a place filled with memories of days gone by. Haunted by the ghost of a wife, child, and father in every step he took. No, McCoy yearned for Nyota, because now, his supporter, lover, and friend had been stripped from him without the chance of a reunion. There had been hope even in Pike’s treacherous separation of the two. Once, revenge had brought them together. Now, there was nothing to unite their paths. He had to force himself to find a new reason to live and carry on.

 

She lingered in his thoughts as he toured the home with eyes tainted by blood and violence. He didn’t find the peace there he’d once known. He could hear the screams of his wife, the hateful pleadings he’d uttered as he bartered for his own death.

 

McCoy bolted from the mementos surrounding him and rushed out the front door and into the sunlight. Traffic was heavy and he decided to walk. His journey led him to the office that once held his practice. The windows and doors were boarded. The beauty of the building long forgotten, McCoy stood staring in quiet contemplation. Could he return to life as normal? He looked at his hands, tools that once brought healing into the world, repaired degenerative limbs, and stitched wounded hearts—and had taken lives. He had killed and enjoyed the euphoric sensations that danced across his skin as another soul was remanded to the tumultuous hereafter.

 

He wasn’t the same man.

 

When McCoy turned to walk away, he swore he saw _her_ in a crowd of people hurrying along the sidewalk. His nose detected the rare scent he’d only known her pores to emit. Yet, when his eyes searched the sea of people, there was no Nyota with rich unblemished skin and eyes filled with pain.

 

The doctor’s shoulders slouched as he headed for the closest purveyor of fine liquor. With a bottle of _Basil Hayden_ in hand he counted his steps on the return journey home. McCoy wasn’t intoxicated. Only a third of the liquid managed to make it into his mouth and down his throat. However, drunkenness could be the only explanation for the figure seated on the stairs to his home. He slowed the pace at which he stumbled down the walkway.

 

“Hi.”

 

Her voice was still sultry and melodic. Gone were the bruises and battle scars that had adorned her body. She had chopped off her long locks in exchange for a simple bob. He reached for the messy hair brushing his shoulders. He’d shaved his beard, but he couldn’t bear parting with the length she adored. His eyes traveled up and down her body, noting the added changes to her appearance, the swell of her bosom and the thickness in her hips and thighs. She followed his eyes and responded accordingly. 

 

“Go ahead - say it, I’m fat.”

 

Nyota’s lips formed the tiniest smile, and that one gesture warmed him more than the aromatic liquor flowing through his veins.

 

“You’re perfect.”

 

He held out his hand and helped her stand.

 

She stroked his palm lightly, “I’ve missed your hands.”

 

 In their brokenness they found wholeness.


End file.
